


It Will Come Back

by EzraTheBlue



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Ending, Episode Ignis Verse 2, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, MT Prompto Argentum, Non-Consensual Body Modification, World of Ruin Big Bang (Final Fantasy XV), mentions of torture, mild body horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:35:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 40,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29248131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EzraTheBlue/pseuds/EzraTheBlue
Summary: After Ignis' showdown with Ardyn in front of the Crystal, after Ignis nearly gives his life for Noctis and the world, Prompto is lost at Zegnautus Keep. When the night comes, however, and as Ignis and Gladio strive to keep the world going while waiting for Noctis' return, a rogue MT appears in front of Ignis and saves his life. Ignis realizes that this MT may not be what it seems - there may be the ghost of a friend in the machine.As he contends with his guilt, exhaustion, and memories of Prompto and Noctis, Ignis strives to bring Prompto back out of his literal shell. However, Prompto may have been changed in ways Ignis can’t reverse, much like the world around him becomes more corrupted by the day. Can he restore his dear friend’s humanityandsave their star?
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 31
Kudos: 59
Collections: World of Ruin Big Bang





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the World of Ruin Big Bang!! The idea has been kicking around in my head for a while, and boils down to this: After Episode Ignis: Verse 2, how would Episode Prompto go?
> 
> The wonderful art was done by Saber!! 
> 
> Special thanks to Cor for beta reading. 
> 
> Please mind the tags! And enjoy!

**1:**

Noctis was gone. Taken, into the Crystal. It was just the same as the horrible vision that had possessed Ignis when he’d taken a knee to bid Pryna farewell from this world. However, Ignis knew already that the world would be a different one from that which Pryna had shown him.

He had given his life over to the Crystal and survived. Perhaps that would be enough to sate its lust for lifeblood, to allow for some other sacrifice to take Noctis’ place. Only time would tell, and if anything else could be done to shift fate, to change the current of destiny, Ignis couldn’t do any of it now.

Instead, Ignis was exhausted, drained and devastated after putting on the Ring, and couldn’t move a muscle. He had watched, eyes still burning, helplessly from the ground as Noctis walked—shoulders back, head forward, tall as the Titan—into the Crystal, and nearly the moment he vanished into its light, hell broke loose in Zegnautus Keep. Daemons poured out of all the walls, and Gladio scooped Ignis into his arms to carry him to safety—not bothering to ask, because if Ignis were to choose between disgrace and survival, survival would have to win out. 

Ravus led the charge back through the Keep, using his credentials to speed them through the security doors and into the elevators, and Prompto took up the rear, firing at the daemons as they gave chase down the parapets and back towards the elevator. The elevator doors shut on the daemons as Prompto kicked a particularly tenacious Imp back out the door, and he pressed his back to the door as the elevator began to sink, taking them down and away. Gladio’s hand steadied Ignis’ chest against his shoulder, and Prompto slumped.

“So,” Prompto said, clearly too anxious to tolerate the white noise of the elevator motor, “he’s really gone, huh?”

Gladio smothered a frustrated noise in his throat, and Ignis, still too exhausted or dizzy to do more than exist, shut his eyes.

Ignis had known it was coming, and even he hadn’t been prepared. He could see how Prompto’s heart bled in his chest through the pain dulling his eyes, and Gladio was slouching now, weighed down by his grief.

“It’s… it’s the divine plan,” Ignis rasped. “I believe Noctis was always fated to give himself over to that light. He is the only one who can.”

Gladio’s hand tightened its grip on Ignis’ leg, and Prompto hung his head. “Why do the Gods’ chosen ones always have to be cool dudes?” Prompto rasped, and Ravus scoffed.

“Such was his fate, as was my sister’s own fate to die, it seems.” He sneered and straightened his back as the elevator landed. He drew the sword at his waist—not Regis’ sword, but another. “Prepare to fight your way out. We must make haste to my airship, lest we be overrun.”

“Right.” Gladio adjusted Ignis in his arms. “It’s going to be a bumpy ride, Iggy.”

“It is enough to be alive.” Ignis blinked his eyes open for a moment as the elevator doors opened, but he knew that his encounter with Ardyn had left him too weak to be of any use to the others now. 

The doors opened wide, revealing that the path out was crowded with MT soldiers. Gladio inhaled sharply and held Ignis closer to him, as the MTs, frenzied and disorganized, charged them. Ravus drew and cut a path through. 

“Stay close!” He charged forward, clearing the way for them to escape, and Gladio got his shield in his open hand, braced Ignis against his chest, and hustled right behind him. Prompto kept firing behind them, as the MTs, maddened, moving without control or purpose, flooded around them like sharks in bloody water. 

“Keep going! Run, run!” Prompto urged them, then stopped to load and fire a Starshell. The light filled the room, pure white, and the MTs roared and raged like animals. Prompto vanished behind the crowd, and Ignis could only see him in flashes of yellow hair and red waistcoat through the hordes.

“Prompto!” His voice was weak, but he could still scream. 

“I’ll catch up!” Prompto shouted, and Ignis heard a few more gunshots. He felt Gladio run a little faster. “Keep going, go, I’ll be right there!”

“Hang on, Iggy,” Gladio hissed, and pushed through the crowd. If Ignis craned his neck around to look forward, he found that they were coming close to Ravus’ ship. However, as weak as he was, it was less straining to look back, but when he looked back, all he saw was Prompto still trying to fight his way through, firing as fast as he could reload and trying to push through. However, the distance between them was growing, and Prompto was flagging.

“Gladio, please, help him!” Ignis urged, ineffectually tugging at Gladio’s shirt. Gladio kept running forward, grunting with discomfort. “Gladio, he’ll—”

“I know! He’s trying, he—” Gladio broke off and looked back, then skidded to a stop. “Prompto! Come on!”

“Keep going! Keep going! Don’t stop!” Prompto urged, and Gladio swore under his breath, then picked up and kept running after Ravus, towards the airship. Prompto kept shouting, “I’ll catch up! Don’t worry about me! Just keep going!”

Ravus reached the airship and cut away at the MTs that beset the bay doors, as Gladio caught up. Prompto, however, was surrounded by MTs, in the thick of them, and there were only more coming. Ravus rushed to the console, and Ignis watched the bay door rise. 

“N-no, Prompto’s still—”

Prompto screamed, and when Ignis looked, he saw him fall, swallowed up in the maelstrom of MTs. Gladio yelled, and Ignis’ heart sank through his chest to the floor.

_No._

“It’s too late for him,” Ravus said firmly, and Ignis shut his eyes tight, as Gladio slumped to the ground, still holding Ignis in his arms. 

“Noct,” he rasped, “Prompto…” He set Ignis down at his side as the airship began to rise. “Damn it all…”

Ravus, softly, without malice, murmured, “May the gods protect them.”

Ignis winced and shut his eyes tight. “There are no gods here.” Bereft, he tried to ignore the ache in his heart, going numb as they were lifted into the air and away.

Away from the Keep. Away from the memories of Ardyn, of Ignis’ encounter with the Lucii. Away from the Crystal, from Noctis. 

They had lost two friends that day, both in an effort to save their lives. Ignis knew that one of them could have been prevented. He still didn’t know if he could prevent the other, but by the Gods, he would try. If he stood and walked again, it would be to save the world for his King and to preserve his King’s life, and to forever mourn that they hadn’t been able to preserve one of the most important parts thereof.

* * *

Giving himself over to the Ring and Crystal had not taken Ignis’ life. He stood, he walked, and faced the world again, albeit with a much heavier heart and no sun to light the way. 

Ignis lost days, weeks, months in research, in hunting, in trying to preserve a world plunged into unending darkness. The MTs were gone with the Empire defunct, but now daemons rampaged and ruined the land, and made travel difficult or, sometimes, impossible. Gladio joined the Hunters in attempting to keep the daemons at bay, traveling around the beat them back when they encroached on the remaining settlements or attacked the artificial lights that kept them at bay. 

Only so much could be done. The casualty reports came daily: a truck with supplies crashed, a group of Hunters lost, a town swallowed by the night.

Without sunlight, farms failed, livestock struggled, and food supplies quickly began to run short. Ignis worked with Exineris and all the resources Lestallum had to set up greenhouses to farm inside, and to closely guard the remaining livestock that had to be kept outside until they could prepare secure indoor facilities where they could still survive until dawn came, whenever that may be. 

Ignis joined hunts when they were short on resources, and he met with those who had any sort of authority anywhere in this broken world to discuss and implement sustainment solutions, to send people where they needed to go, to organize supply caravans to the remaining settlements. He was seen as the representative of Insomnia, of the Lucian king, as he was known to be Noctis’ retainer, and besides that a powerful mind in his own right. It gave him things to think about outside of the overwhelming grief. 

When he wasn’t kept busy trying to keep the world running, he was traveling, both to stop daemons wherever they rose, but to go anywhere there might have been some information about the prophecy of the Chosen King, the Starscourge, the power of the Lucii, and anything that might give him some information about Noctis’ fate, and any possible way he could subvert it. 

It would not change that they’d lost one friend, but Ignis would give anything to change what destiny had laid at his feet like a Behemoth dragging the mangled corpse of a chocobo.

It was shortly after the two year anniversary of Noctis’ vanishing, Ignis was on another conference call with Holly, Sania Yeagre, Cid Sophiar, and a few other important people in the Lestallum administrative offices, distractedly listening with his journal in his lap as the agriculture liaison finished giving his report.

 _“... given that the farms just lost another five workers and ten acres of land to a daemon attack that destroyed the lights, we need to consider tightening food rations until we can get the light repaired or get another greenhouse running.”_

Ignis grimaced at the thought—food was tight enough already. Every supply was tight enough already, and there was no foreseeable end to this. Would they be able to construct a new light, or would the construction crew just die trying? Was it worth the risk—the resources, the manpower, the chance that all would be lost in one blow—to try to rebuild it? Or better to continue defending what remained?

“We’ll try to organize some Hunters to guard a construction crew,” Ignis decided with only a quick analysis. “Once we have some men available, we’ll send an expedition to rebuild. Until then, please run the numbers on our current production capacity.”

 _“Sir,”_ the agricultural liaison agreed. Ignis could hear him saluting, and his lip curled of its own accord. He had no desire to be saluted or honored. Part of him still wondered if there had not been more he could have done to prevent this in the first place.

He would never know. All he could do was try to survive the world as it was now, and restore it when he could. 

“If that’s everything—” Ignis prepared to adjourn but was interrupted:

 _“There’s one miscellaneous item,”_ Holly piped up, and Ignis listened. _“I got a call from Wiz, at the Chocobo post? He was asking if we could send a hunter by.”_

“More chocobo disappearances?” Ignis couldn’t keep the dismay from his voice; the extinction of the gentle chocobo seemed inevitable, and oh, how that grated on Ignis’ old wounds. 

_“Well, he’s doing the best he can to keep up the breeding program, even though the birds gotta stay inside unless he can get hunters to guard the paddock, but he wasn’t asking for that. He says he’s been having some unusual daemon activity, but the really weird thing is, he said he saw an MT soldier.”_

That got Ignis’ attention, and he sat stark upright on his bed, eyes wide. There had been no MT soldiers sighted since the madness at Zegnautus Keep; the few airships in Lucis had crashed shortly after Zegnautus Keep fell, and the MTs inside had apparently gone haywire and attacked each other: completely out of control, based on the few witness accounts they had. 

“He’s certain? There have been no MTs in Lucis since—”

 _“That’s why I thought to bring it to your attention,”_ Holly said, obviously tense. _“It seems to be keeping the daemons off, but the fact that this is the first MT we’ve seen in Lucis since, you know, the sun stopped rising, it’s unusual. It hasn’t come near Wiz yet, and he’s only seen it at a distance, but it’s got him spooked.”_

“Certainly, and entirely understandably.” 

Ignis shut his notebook. He was exhausted of Lestallum, always found himself tired of staying in one place, usually this same single-bed room, by himself when Gladio was off defending Noctis’ country, when Noctis was entrapped by his fate, and when Prompto was gone. He would accept any sort of direction for his wanderlust. 

“I’ll go myself and report back. I can only think of one man on Eos with more experience with the Magitek soldiers than myself, and he’s not on this call.”

Holly thanked Ignis, and the meeting was adjourned. Ignis hurriedly packed a bag to depart, his frown tugging at the scars around his eyes and mouth—unkind reminders of the weight of his actions and failures. 

Ignis could not change what had come to pass, could not singlehandedly revive the ruined world, could not change Noctis’ destiny or Prompto’s ultimate fate. All he could do was take care of what few things were in his reach for now, and keep reaching further whenever the opportunity arose.

Perhaps this lone, stray MT would give him some new information about the Starscourge. 

Or, at the very least, Ignis could do something for the poor chocobos. After all, it would dishonor Prompto’s memory if they were to go extinct when there had been something he could do about it. Prompto would want someone to protect the chocobos.

Ignis could never atone enough for being too weak to protect Prompto, but he could protect the chocobos.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis arrives at the chocobo ranch to investigate the report of the rogue MT. What he finds is different from what he could have expected.

**2:**

Wiz had greeted Ignis warmly, with a bright lantern in hand and the key to the caravan. 

“Good to see you again!” Wiz waved him in with a smile, but added, “Though a shame to see you’re alone.” 

Somehow, the darkness had only barely dampened the old man’s cheer. Perhaps because he had the birds, their sunny dispositions and companionship, he could hold onto some form of hope. Ignis hated to decline his hospitality or the safety of the caravan when offered, but he had a job to do.

(And the caravan would be so quiet, staying there all by himself.)

“I fear I’ll be setting up camp outside of safety,” he told Wiz with polite detachments and a somber smile. “I intend to stake out your MT soldier where I might easiest meet them. Could you direct me to the places you’ve spotted him?” 

Wiz didn't dare leave the safety of the lights, but he led Ignis to where he'd spotted the thing. "There's a footpath going up into the hills. I spotted it on the hiking path around the Malacchi Hills. I’ve never seen it come closer than about fifty paces from the light, and is always gone before I get a good look at it.”

Ignis surveyed the grounds. He recalled these hills. He knew there was a haven nearby, fondly remembered camping with the others there after a day hunting around the chocobo post when they couldn’t quite make it back to the caravan, sharing skewers and playing King’s Knight. He wouldn’t be using it. 

“I’ll set up a stakeout point and wait it out.”

Ignis had a few supplies in his Armiger, enough kindling to prepare a little fire, and set up a kettle. Coffee beans were still in supply, and Ignis prepared a pot of coffee for himself as he waited to sight the MT. He didn’t particularly worry about falling asleep—insomnia had been his constant companion during these fraught nights since Noctis had vanished—but he wanted the caffeine nevertheless. He suspected it wouldn’t want to come anywhere near the haven, and firelight didn’t seem to deter most daemons. Fortunately, his daggers did the job. He struck at any daemon that wandered close to his campsite, sipped coffee, and listened to the distant whisper of the wind through the trees. 

Then, his phone rang. Ignis peeked at his phone, then answered the call.

“Good afternoon, Gladio.”

_ “Dunno how you can tell.” _ Gladio chuckled.  _ “Monica mentioned you were headed over to Wiz’s place to investigate that MT. How’s the Chocobo Post?” _

“Quiet.” Ignis couldn’t hear their distinctive cries in the air, and missed the familiar noises of his friends’ laughter. “Where are you this fine day?”

_ “Cid called me over to Hammerhead, Cor’s got a batch of new recruits and he wants me to test ‘em out.” _ There was a plaintive pause.  _ “If you need back-up, just say the word.” _

“It’s one Magitek Trooper, and unconfirmed, at that. I’m certain I can handle it.”

_ “Yeah.” _ He clicked his tongue.  _ “Dunno, wish I could be there with you to wipe out the last of the Empire.” _

“That’s something I’m investigating, as a point of fact.” Ignis glanced up and around. The darkened horizons were still and silent, no strange lights peeking around the trees, no odd noises to be heard. “I’m not entirely certain this is the last of them, as you suggest.”

_ “Aranea’s turned Gralea inside out trying to figure out what went down before we all got there, but she says she hasn’t found anything in the places she’s been able to access. Still, that does leave the areas she hasn’t gotten to yet. I’ll talk to her next time she comes by, but either way, rub that thing out.” _

“Indeed.” Ignis sighed, then heard a familiar hissing. “Afraid I’ve got to go. Unwelcome company.” 

The daemons moved so quickly in the darkness, Ignis hardly had a chance to realize he’d been surrounded by Imps and Tarantulas in the course of that brief phone call. Ignis silently enumerated them as they danced mad in the light cast off his fire, and readied his daggers. 

Then, moving without thought, he burst into motion, slaughtering his way through the daemons. He hardly had to look, let alone think about it after months killing daemons on the road with his companions and years doing it on his own.

However, as he waltzed through the fight, a ronde of carving through the monsters, he realized that he was only attracting more and more dance partners. The daemons were coming for him, unafraid of his paltry little fire, and they were coming faster than he could kill them. Ignis felt himself losing breath, if not ground, but fought on—there would be no rescue, all he could do was wait for the daemon onslaught to abate, or pray that the end came quickly. 

Then, out of nowhere, there was a bright light high above. Ignis flinched and covered his eyes, blinded for a second—it was brighter than the sun had ever been. He heard all the daemons screech and recoil in pain and took a moment to gather himself.

He knew the Night had not ended. There shouldn’t have been a light that bright in nature, where had it come from?! It reminded him of Prompto’s Starshells. How could there be a Starshell?

When Ignis’ vision cleared, there was an MT running towards him, carrying a rifle. Ignis readied his daggers, ruing that his mark had to come now, of all times, but the MT drew, aimed, and fired at a Tarantula coming up behind Ignis. 

Ignis pivoted and stabbed the Tarantula for good measure, then moved on to slaughtering the next Imps that rushed at him from the treeline. The MT Soldier got back to back with him, firing as fast as it could aim and kicking back the monsters that came too close. Ignis recalled when he’d had dance partners. He still recalled the ebb and flow of having three others at his side, working around and with them to preserve their lives. It felt so natural to work with another again, even if their back against his was hard and cold, and Ignis knew that the moment this ended, they would be enemies. 

He didn’t have time to reminisce. He had to survive. 

When the final daemon fell, dissolving into a pool of murky goo around Ignis’ dagger, the MT was kneeling over the last body of the Imp he’d stabbed with his bayonet. Ignis was able to catch his breath as he watched and waited for the MT to turn around and attack him. However, it didn’t.

Instead, the MT stood up and walked away from him, stiff and mechanical, but leaving as if Ignis weren’t there. 

Ignis stared at its back for a moment, then felt terror like a spike in his chest—it was headed for Wiz’s. 

He followed, ready to strike at it, but it had stopped at the top of the hill. Ignis saw a window into the barn, and when he got close enough, he realized he could hear the chocobos, and see into the barn. He could see the chocobos from here, and so could the MT.

The MT was looking into the barn. It was watching the chocobos. Ignis had never thought of the MTs as peaceful, but with its neutral, expressionless mask and slowly relaxing body language, this one seemed somehow contented where it was.

Ignis crept around to observe it, taking in its condition. There was certainly something different about this one.The MTs were towering, broad, and bulky. This one was too small. The armor was battered and fit it poorly, it seemed to rattle on the thing’s chest. Its legs were thin and shaky, and it swayed a little where it stood, ready to fall apart. The MTs were virtually identical, and always seemed solid, a single piece. The helmet and mask seemed to be the only thing that was at all right about it, but Ignis realized its eyes weren’t glowing red. They were blank, black glass. 

There was something wrong with this MT. 

“Excuse me.” He stood a few paces back from the MT, daggers still in hands but held at his side. “Whatever are you doing here?”

He’d never heard the MTs talk before. He wasn’t certain if it would answer, or if it did, what it might say. 

Still, to Ignis’ plain surprise, a mechanical voice echoed out from under the mask:  _ “The… the chocobos…” _

MTs could talk. Or, this one could. And it wanted to talk about chocobos.

Ignis’ glance dodged between the MT, the view of the chocobo barn, and then back to the MT. “Yes. Yes, there are chocobos there.”

_ “I…” _ The MT swayed unsteadily, then caught himself and righted its stance.  _ “I… want to ride my cho-co-bo… all… day…” _

The MT could talk and wanted to  _ ride its chocobo all day. _

The MT reached into one of the side pouches on its belt and took out what looked like half of a rotten turnip. It tilted its mask up and away from its face—Ignis saw sallow skin and sunken cheeks—and it took a bite of the turnip and chewed it slowly, then put the rest away. 

It swallowed, then continued to stare into the barn, faintly, tunelessly humming. Ignis felt tension in his gut and simmering up into his throat, then crept towards it. There was no way—there was no way—could it possibly be? 

“Are… are you...?” He extended an arm, but the moment he got in arm’s length of the MT, it jumped, and Ignis realized he still had his knife in his hand. The MT pivoted and broke into a run, moving more naturally than any Magitek soldier he’d ever laid eyes on had, and all Ignis could think to do was cry out, “No, wait!” 

It was too little, too late. The MT vanished into the darkness of the forest, another shadow lost in the blackness of the night, leaving Ignis with only more questions than he’d originally had.


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Ignis twists with guilt and panic at the sight of the MT's face, he recalls how he'd failed someone important to him before, then sets out to learn more.

**3:**

Ignis was familiar with hunger, if not starvation. He’d seen hungry children in the settlements around the streetlights clamor around the supply cars, and adults who’d gone without so the smaller among them could eat shivering and sunken-cheeked outside of their trailers. 

However, he knew the signs of hunger, of neglect, of need, much more personally from an incident hardly four years ago now.

_ Prompto had collapsed on the sidewalk in the park when Ignis arrived with the car. Noctis was already there with a bottle of water and a granola bar, and Gladio was standing over him, trying to facilitate making Prompto take a swallow or a bite of one or the other. He parked, leaving the emergency lights on, and grabbed the first aid kit he’d brought from Noctis’ apartment, hoping that whatever was inside could aid the situation.  _

_ Ignis had known Prompto since Noctis had become his friend at the beginning of high school. He was flighty, bouncy, pleasant, and funny—disposable comic relief, if Noctis didn’t care so deeply for him, and if he didn’t clearly love Noctis without reservation.  _

_ Noctis looked more worried than he did about nearly anything else as he tried to tip water into his mouth. Ignis had accepted his presence, but had warned Noctis that the young man was not to take advantage of his position to curry favor with Noctis. He’d initially suspected this as a ploy for pity. However, now that Ignis was really looking at the young man, he noticed how rangy he was under his clothes, cheeks sunken-in, ribs prominent on his chest. Had Prompto always been so thin? _

_ “What happened?” he asked crisply as he strode towards the other three. Gladio glanced up. _

_ “Me and blondie here were racing to the snack bar, when out of nowhere, he dropped like a brick.” He faced Prompto again, brow furrowed. “He’s sweating bullets, skin’s clammy—I think he’s dehydrated.” _

_ “I see.” Ignis crouched over Prompto, then got an ice pack from the first aid kid. Prompto’s gaze was dulled, and he took a swallow from the water bottle. _

_ “I’m fine,” he mumbled, though he shut his eyes with relief when the ice pack touched his forehead. “I’m just kinda warm. Probably didn’t drink enough after my morning run.” _

_ “Is that so?” Ignis’ brow furrowed as he glanced down at Prompto’s form. “You run every morning, do you not?” _

_ Prompto swallowed and nodded; he didn’t have to confirm it, Ignis knew it from his background check, from hearing him and Gladio compare their mile times. “And do you eat a healthy diet to fuel your runs? Preferably with a healthy balance of carbohydrates, protein, vegetables, and fruits?” _

_ “I mean…” He winced. “I… try?” _

_ “Liar,” Noctis muttered. “When’s the last time you had lunch at school?” _

_ Prompto’s face pulled with obvious guilt at being caught in the lie, and Ignis felt a pang of sympathy. “Did you eat breakfast today?” _

_ Prompto’s sealed mouth was answer enough, and Ignis got down on both knees. “You must understand, it’s foolish to—” _

_ “I’m just out of cereal,” he mumbled. “My folks don’t believe me when I tell ‘em the price of food’s gone up, so the food money runs out pretty fast.” _

_ Gladio, admirably, kept the anger in his face out of his voice. “And how long has this been going on?” _

_ Prompto took too long to answer, only spurred to answer by Noctis’ demanding gaze. “A while.” _

_ Noctis’ face shot up towards Ignis with fire in his eyes, and a clear expression of ‘what now?’ Ignis’ heart sank, and he quietly forgot any notion that Prompto might take advantage of Noctis’ friendship.  _

_ “That will no longer be the case.” Ignis put his hand under Prompto’s back and eased him up to a sitting position. “We will discuss this once we’d have a chance to help you recover. However, you will not go hungry so long as you know me.” He spoke softly, furiously, and with more venom than he thought a man could have. “I’m a personal chef, for goodness’ sake. Nobody in my life will starve so long as I still live and breathe.” _

_ He was furious that anyone would let their child starve in a city of plenty. He was even more furious at himself that he’d thought to deny Prompto aid if he didn’t believe his need was real enough. How dare he. _

_ He watched Gladio carry Prompto to the back seat of the car, as Noctis tugged his sleeve to make him stay in place. “Iggy,” he growled. “He’s my best friend. He’s going hungry while I’m right here.” _

_ “Indeed.” Ignis knew the irony of the prince and the pauper being friends, and the horrible juxtaposition of a boy who had never wanted for anything but love and kindness with a boy who had love to give and nothing else. “We will take care of him. He deserves better than what’s been given to him.” _

Ignis knew that everyone deserved better than the world they had been given. He knew he was powerless to do more than he could now. However, what he was doing now was the first thing that came to mind. 

He was bolting back towards Wiz’s Chocobo Post, dialing Gladio as he jogged. Gladio picked up on the second ring, and the moment Ignis heard the line go live, he shouted, “It’s Prompto! I swear, it’s him, there must be something we can do!” 

_ “Iggy, slow down! What about Prompto—” _

“It’s him. The MT Soldier is Prompto, somehow.” He halted as he crested the hill and passed the gate, and paced outside of the outpost doors. “I saw his face. It looked just like Prompto back when he was starving, his narrow jaw and hollow cheekbones.”

_ “MTs don’t have faces—” _

“It lifted its mask. It’s not an MT!” He stomped his foot. “He was trying to sing the bloody chocobo song!”

_ “Ignis.” _ Gladio sounded equal parts tired, annoyed, and grounded.  _ “You’re exhausted. You’ve been running yourself ragged trying to take care of as much as you can, and I don’t think you rest the way you ought’a.” _

“I—”

_ “You’re hallucinating, man.” _ Gladio sighed and Ignis slowed to a halt, heaving for air.  _ “I… I know you probably still feel guilty about losing the kid. Hell, I still think about it every damn day. But there was nothing we could’ve done without losing our own lives.” _

Ignis’ clenched fist quaked at his side, but he inhaled, then exhaled, and thought again. “I do feel the same way. I… I do regret that there was not more we could do.” 

There had been nothing he could do to prevent Noctis’ fate that day. Noctis was fated to be taken by the Crystal, unharmed by the light but beholden thereto. He would return.

Prompto was an ordinary person. He’d just been there to help Noctis, not because it was his destiny but because he’d wanted to, and, even so, stood to protect the rest of them, then died for his troubles. Noctis’ fate was, supposedly, to die. Prompto had no such predestined fate.

“Perhaps it is guilt that made me imagine what I saw, but the MT’s behavior is questionable at best.” He pinched his brow. “It was not aggressive towards me. It aided me while I was beset by daemons—”

_ “I remember the MTs used to attack daemons before.” _

“Precisely, but when it was finished, it didn’t turn about and attack  _ me. _ ” Ignis paced a short line a few times. “It went to observe the chocobos, and I’m certain it was singing the jingle from the old advert.”

_ “So you said.”  _ Gladio exhaled through his nostrils, then gave a groan.  _ “I dunno enough about the damn things. It might just be malfunctioning. Maybe it can’t detect humans in the dark. Maybe it heard the song on the radio and started imitating it. Either way, do yourself a favor and just kill it and be done with it.” _

Ignis halted. “I suppose that would be the expedient way to handle it.” He sighed. “Take care, then.”

_ “You, too.” _ The line went quiet, and Ignis turned towards the outpost doors.

He never agreed to just kill the MT and ‘be done with it,’ as Gladio had suggested. Ignorance was not an excuse for negligence of duty. Just because he did not know what made this MT unique didn’t mean he couldn’t find out. 

Instead, he checked his watch and found it was already morning, and knocked on Wiz’s door. Wiz answered shortly, and Ignis saw the barrel of a shotgun poking out the gap in the door before he opened it wide. 

“There you are. Any news on the MT?”

“I spotted him, but it seems to be purposefully observing the chocobos.” He entered at Wiz’s behest. “I’m going to need additional supplies. I will need to observe this creature further. This is no ordinary MT soldier, of that I’m certain.” 

Ignis knew that the easiest way to handle the situation would be to simply eliminate it. However, the MTs were a mystery, and Ignis had some inkling that there was something about this MT that was different that enabled it to still function with some form of independent intelligence. Perhaps it would be valuable to his research on the Starscourge.

Perhaps he just wanted to help a friend who deserved better.

* * *

Ignis continued to camp near the Chocobo Post, killing any daemons in the area and keeping the roads clear. He could talk to any of the people who needed his input from his camp, between slaughtering daemons and reviewing the books he’d been able to gather on his research trips. 

However, everything else was forgotten when he spotted the MT ambling its way down the path. He would put aside whatever he was looking at, end his call, abandon camp, and stalk the MT. The MT didn’t even seem to be aware he was being followed, or if he was aware, he didn’t mind. He didn’t seem to have a set path he traveled, either. He roamed through the woods, never straying too far from the paths around the post, sometimes down towards the racing track and the fishing hole south thereto, sometimes up into the woods towards Deadeye’s Lair. It quickly, quietly, and mercilessly destroyed any daemons it encountered as it roamed. Sometimes, Ignis would see it stop to dig or search the underbrush for something. It rarely seemed to find anything, but Ignis never saw what it was he was finding and tucking into its supply pouch on its hip. 

He did check the old marked-up map of Eos he, Noctis, Gladio, and Prompto had kept on their journeys around the mainland, all the spots they’d marked for havens, fishing holes, convenience stores, and places where wild food was known to grow. The MT was looking at their old procurement points. Maybe he was still finding wild carrots and potatoes. 

Ignis recalled that first night, how the MT ate that rotten turnip from his pocket. A single bite. He recalled the hollow cheekbones under the mask. That turnip may have been the only food the poor thing had. Ignis had never recalled any of the MTs eating, but then, he’d never spent more time around one than absolutely necessary. Usually they were too preoccupied trying to kill him to discuss their dietary preferences. Ignis had always assumed they were automatons, running on some sort of fuel. 

However, if this was Prompto, perhaps he did still need fuel.

Ignis searched through the ingredients he’d stocked over the years, what few things remained in the Armiger. The magic kept it fresh, but he’d delved into the stock over and over and had rarely restocked with more than he absolutely needed, out of fear that he might lose access to it if Noctis was gone long enough. Hoarding would prove unwise if he lost access to the hoard. However, he did have a few things left, and he happened to have just the things he needed to make a pot of green curry soup.

The way Prompto’s face lit up whenever a bowl of that curry had been placed before him had given Ignis all the motivation he could have ever needed to memorize the recipe. He hadn’t made it in nearly two years, but it came back to him: muscle memory, from every time he’d needed to make that smile appear. 

He even added an extra hot pepper, just to make absolutely certain the stew would appeal.

Ignis poured a portion of the soup into a thermos and stowed it in the Armiger, then waited for the MT to appear again. The Armiger still had its preservative properties, thankfully, so Ignis could wait as long as it took. Fortunately, it was only the next day that Ignis spotted the unfortunate thing stumbling along again, and he quickly ducked ahead on the path and planted the thermos where it couldn’t possibly miss it. He popped it open to make certain that distinctive scent wafted out.

Then, he hid himself nearby and waited.

The MT loped unevenly down the path Ignis had seen him traveling, clearly unaware that Ignis was nearby. Ignis wondered if the thing would even mind if he were near. He clearly hadn’t cared about Ignis’ presence before, not until he’d seen Ignis armed in the absence of anything else to kill. However, he wouldn’t risk anything now. Not when the MT was this close, and Ignis was certain he’d get an answer, one way or another. Not when the MT had stopped at the thermos, staring. Ignis saw moisture drip from under the inside of the map, until it reached a quaking hand out, then took it and opened it. He shoved his mask up, revealing that same wan jaw and hollow cheeks Ignis had seen before, streaked black in places from the corners of his lips and down his cheeks, and it tipped the thermos to its mouth.

Ignis watched the MT drink the soup in small sips, and he heard it keen softly as it swallowed. Ignis’ heart ached as he realized the MT was crying, sniffling even as he devoured what surely was his first real meal in a long time. 

It was Prompto. There was no other answer. That MT was, one way or another, Prompto. 

Ignis intended to find out how.


	4. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories of the past conflict with the horrifying present, as Ignis hears an interesting tidbit about the MTs and their creator.

**4:**

_ The rain was pouring down, drumming the schoolyard in a million blows, filling the cracks in the dust and forming swaths of mud, and Ignis impatiently tapped the wheel of the car as he waited for his charge and his friend to emerge, bolting from the doors under their umbrellas.  _

_ He watched as dozens of other teenagers flooded out like the school was pumping them away, but there was no sign of Noctis’ black umbrella or Prompto’s chocobo raincoat. He waited for a few minutes, before sending Noctis a text: “I’m here, please hurry.” _

_ There was no reply. The rain lightened a touch just as Ignis began to feel the first few tendrils of concern creeping up his spine, and he spotted something bright yellow under an awning on the edge of the fields. Certainly that was a chocobo raincoat. Ignis grabbed his own umbrella and hurried out to find out what had caused the two of them to tarry.  _

_ Prompto and Noctis were under what seemed to be a pavilion adjacent to the cafeteria, Noctis’ umbrella abandoned on its side, and both boys were crouched down near one of the tables. Ignis heard Prompto before he could see what they were looking at:  _

_ “Shh, it’s okay, little fella. We’re just here to help.” _

_ Noctis whispered, voice filled with awe: “Look at him go.” _

_ Perhaps the proper descriptor was “voice filled with aww.” Ignis stood between the two boys to peer over their shoulders and see them putting down what appeared to be a foil pack of tuna for a little stray tabby. Ignis pinched his brow. _

_ “You realize,” Ignis said firmly, and the pair of them jumped and twisted back to face him, “that feeding a stray is one of the worst things you can do for it, do you not?” _

_ Prompto instantly evinced guilt, eyes wide and sucking his cheeks in, but Noctis stuck his lower lip out. “What are we supposed to do, let it starve?” _

_ “He’s…” Prompto protested, half under his breath but with conviction deep in his tones, “he’s just a little thing.” He shifted so Ignis could see: indeed, the kitten couldn’t have been more than six months old, and it was scrawny and thin. “He’ll die out here.” _

_ “I imagine this is not the first time you have given up your lunch that this creature may eat?” Ignis folded his arms. “It comes back because you feed it here, and if you go on feeding it, it will come back. If you let it fend for itself, it will seek shelter and perhaps do better for itself.” _

_ “But I can do better,” Noctis said, then laced his fingers. “I want to take him home. Ignis, please. I’ll take him to the vet and feed him the good food and he won’t have to wander anymore.” _

_ “No.” Ignis took both of them by the shoulders, frowning again at the pathetic thing mewling as it munched on the dry tuna. “It could be diseased. Leave it be.” He pulled Noctis to his feet and pushed him away from the stray cat, picking up his dropped umbrella, and herded him towards the cat. “Prompto, come along if you’re coming.” _

_ Prompto still lingered, gazing at the kitten, lower lip wiggling. “But… he’s just a little thing, all alone…” _

_ Ignis glanced back at Prompto, and felt a pang. How big his heart was. “I’ll contact animal services and have them set a live trap for the poor thing, so it can be taken in properly and be seen by a veterinarian. Noctis, your father is allergic to cats, and Prompto, I believe you mentioned you’re not allowed to take pets.” _

_ “Didn’t stop me before,” he mumbled, and Ignis furrowed his brow, but then Prompto yanked his hood up over his head, obscuring his face with the beak of his raincoat’s imitation of a chocobo’s head and his meaning with silence, and he hustled to join Noctis and Ignis. Ignis heard Prompto whisper, “they don’t check our places all the time, if I see him tomorrow, I’ll take him home.”  _

_ Ignis suppressed a sigh, but even then, he knew Prompto’s heart was in the right place. _

_ Unfortunately, the next day, the cat was not there, and Ignis watched from the car as Noctis leaned on the hood, waiting as Prompto searched around the pavilion fruitlessly for the lost creature until finally surrendering to futility…  _

It was memories like those that made Ignis’ chest ache. Those halcyon days had been simple and soft. His life had boiled down to dedication to his liege, valuable friendships with admirable young men, ambition for greatness and determination to do what was right and what had to be done. 

Now, everything was a war.

Ignis had been recalled to Lestallum for a terse discussion on allocation of their limited and ever-dwindling resources. It seemed every time the council managed to scrounge up a bit more in materials or manpower there were more things that needed to be done.

“I’m telling you,” Sania Yeagre insisted from her place at the table, “preserving the fauna should be our chief focus. We were having success in converting the abandoned Niflheim bases into preserves, but we need more!”

“The immediate need to feed the populace has to take priority,” the agriculture liaison argued right back. “What is the point of animals without humans to care for them? We can’t afford to cut rations again, most people are on subsistence as it is and we lost another five acres when the lights were damaged in a skirmish last month—”

“This,” Cor muttered, head in his hands (because he hated these meetings more than anything, loathed being dragged from his work training new recruits to join in these squabbles), “is why we need to focus on recruiting and training more Hunters into proper Glaives and getting more able-bodied people on the front lines against the incursions.” He shot a glare over the table at Gladio. “Including one of my most skilled recruits—”

“You are not sending Iris out there to hunt Daemons.” Gladio stood abruptly. “And you’re not going to make this meeting about that.”

“What are we even here to discuss?” Sighing, Ignis put aside his useless notepad, marked with only a few cursory scrawls. “It was my understanding we had some raw materials to use. However, we also need to focus on dividing our resources most effectively.” None of them had time to waste on arguments. He faced Sania and the agriculture liaison. “In lieu of roundabout rhetoric, let’s get some more information so we can actually reach a decision. I’d like a list of the bare minimum materials you each need to complete your proposed projects, including a timeline and projected productivity. Sania, I need to know estimated quantities of animals you’ll be able to house and feed, and Lawrence, the projected per-month volumes of fruit and vegetable production of your proposed build.”

Holly, from the head of the table, exhaled with relief. “We are trying to get a team out to fix the lights we lost, but we do need to keep moving until we can get a group of Hunters or Glaives available.” She turned to the other side of the room, where Aranea was filing her nails. “Miss Highwind—or do you prefer Commodore?”

“It’s whatever.” Aranea examined her fingernails. “If you’re all done squabbling, I actually dragged myself here for a reason. Chiefly, to get those three in one place.” She swept her pointed finger around the room from Cor to Gladio to Ignis. “But it might be worthwhile for everyone here to know: hey, remember how Lucis was at war with Niflheim?” She cocked an eyebrow. “Because even though the Emperor’s dead and the army’s gone, there are still people in Niflheim that think we’re at war.”

Ignis heaved another sigh. He was prepared for this conversation, but he sincerely didn’t want to have it. “We have attempted outreach, and we have offered Gralea what aid we can—”

“No, no, that’s all well and good. When I say ‘people,’ I don’t mean most people, because most Graleans just want to survive. But there are still a few crazies out there, and there’s one in particular I’m worried about.” Aranea took a dossier out of her coat and put it on the table, and Ignis peered over to take a peek: an elderly man with a somehow familiar face—had Ignis seen him on television?—and a few articles. “This is Verstael Besithia, the Research Chief for the Magitek Project and former member of Emperor Aldercapt’s inner circle. He’s the one who built the Magitek Army, under what I would call suspicious circumstances, and he vanished when the MTs went out of his control, after you all had your little shindig at the Keep.”

“Wait.” Gladio formed a T with his hands. “The MTs went out of  _ his _ control? As in, he couldn’t control them.”

“Yeah.” Aranea quirked an eyebrow. “As in, they don’t take commands from him anymore. Ever since your Prince vanished and the Chancellor zipped off to Insomnia, the MTs freaked and then mass shut-down. Of course, that’s sort of what I wanted to bring to your attention.” She took her phone out and showed a photograph. “This is the First Magitek Production Facility, in the Niflheim wildlands. It was dormant after the MTs went inoperative, except, as you can see from this photo I took last week, the lights are on again.”

Ignis inhaled sharply. “So, you think he may be trying to recreate the MTs?”

“Who knows? Lightning does strike twice sometimes.” Aranea clicked her tongue. “He hasn’t been seen, but if he were to come back out, this would definitely be where I’d go looking for him. Thing is, there’s some pretty nasty daemons that way, and I’m not venturing out there alone.” She crossed her arms, gaze shifting around the room. “Maybe if there were even an hour of daylight, or one person to go with me, but alone? I’m not dying by myself in the snow.”

Ignis frowned, pressing his palms into the table as he leaned over to get a better look, and let his eyes roam over the dossier on Besithia. “How dangerous is he, in the immediate term?”

Aranea hummed, mouth tilting from side to side. “Can’t say for sure. He seemed to have something nasty in the works—something on par with the mech that destroyed Insomnia, from what I could glean—but without the Magitek cores that have gone haywire or dormant since Ardyn peaced out, he may not have any meaningful way to make progress.” She shrugged. “It’s not a rush—it’s just a few lights in dark windows—but if any of you can spare a week to go out there with me before those lights get brighter, maybe we can get some answers.”

“Unfortunately, you see how thinly we’re stretched.” Ignis pinched the space between his eyes. He dearly wished he could spare the time to venture that far afield, but: “I’m not certain Lucis can have me out of contact for that long, else I’d accompany you myself.” 

“We really can’t lose this guy,” Gladio remarked, and gave Ignis a companionable slap on the back. Ignis cast him a frown, but Gladio smiled at him. Ignis couldn’t help but notice the exhaustion in his face, yet he still had the wherewithal to smile for an old friend. “Hey, wanted to ask. Speaking of Magitek, what happened with that MT around the Chocobo post?”

“You saw one?” Aranea put her hands on the table and thrust herself closer. Ignis pursed his lips.

“I was unable to safely dispose of it.” Not entirely a lie, he supposed. He certainly found himself entirely unable to imagine “disposing” of Prompto. Even so, from Gladio’s previous reaction, stating what he knew to be true without more objective fact would have the others questioning his sanity. “I observed it, and I am entirely certain it’s not a typical MT soldier. It eats, for one, and it has made no attempt to harm any humans or animals.”

“You mean, it has a mouth?” Aranea frowned, but Gladio shoved Ignis’ arm, smile twisting to a frown.

“Seriously? You didn’t kill it?” 

“Frankly, given everything Miss Highwind has said, it may be more valuable to leave it alive as a bellwether for the status of the Magitek cores. Certainly, if it is an MT, it must have one.” Ignis folded his arms and straightened his spine. “That Magitek no longer operates properly now that Ardyn Izunia has abandoned Niflheim is a certainty, given anecdotal evidence, but if this Besithia finds some way to regain control, we must be prepared. Observing this stray MT may offer some clue as to his progress, and I certainly admit curiosity as to its nature—”

“It’s a freak, that’s its nature!” Gladio bared his teeth. “You saw what those things did to—”

“Hang on.” Aranea put her hand in Gladio’s face and leaned forward to put herself between Gladio and Ignis. “Tell me more about the freak MT.”

Ignis blinked in surprise. As she stared into his face, her eyes narrowed to slits. “Erm. He roams in circles around the Chocobo Post. He’s been searching for food there, I’ve seen it eating whatever it can find. He seems to like the chocobos, and I’ve heard it speak about them when spoken to.”

“You talked to it?” Aranea’s eyes went wide. 

“I made an attempt, but when it realized I was armed, it fled.” Ignis broke eye contact with her. “It’s able to lift its mask, as well, and there appears to be a human head under the armor.”

“That’s not right,” Aranea whispered, barely a hiss, and Ignis noticed the hand that was not blocking Gladio’s face forming a fist. “There aren’t  _ people _ in the armor. We’ve been shown the inside of the armor, it’s  _ empty . ” _

“Not this one.” Ignis ran his fingers back through his hair, still avoiding Aranea’s gaze even as Gladio pushed her hand out of his face. “It very much has a human mouth underneath, and possibly other human elements. As I mentioned, it eats, and the parts of it I have seen are thin. I’ve seen it digging for potatoes and harvesting wild plants.” Gladio’s brow furrowed, and Ignis finally glanced to the floor. “It acts human when it thinks it’s alone, as much as it can.”

“That’s…” Aranea shook her head. “I don’t like that. I know I can’t ask you to linger around the Chocobo Post and stalk him, but when you can get out there, do me a favor and keep an eye on it.”

“I’ll do what I can to observe it, when I can.” Ignis bowed at the waist, as Gladio scoffed.

“I’m tellin’ ya, Igs, there’s no good that can come of this.” 

“That remains to be seen.” Ignis shook his head and stepped back to disengage. “We have no way of knowing what will come of this. We are in truly unmarked territory with every step we take.”

“Yeah, and like I said,” Aranea winked at Gladio, “Lucis is still at war with Niflheim, on paper. Nobody’s signed anything.”

“There’s nobody who  _ can _ sign an armistice, since your side killed damn near everyone who could and then imploded.” Gladio rolled his eyes, then wagged a finger at Ignis. “You. If you mess with that MT, at least be careful. I’ve lost one friend to them.” With that, he turned about and strode over to Cor, already preparing to strike up the argument about Iris formally joining the Glaive, and Aranea faced Ignis. 

“I’ll try to rustle up a group that can infiltrate the MT Facility, and dig for information on anyone who might have used to work under Besithia. Keep in touch, won’t you, Four-Eyes?” She sauntered away, leaving Ignis with his thoughts. 

Perhaps the failure of the Magitek was what made this MT different. If Prompto had somehow been turned but because the Magitek was inoperative, it had failed to transform him, or if they had simply shoved the armor onto him and tormented him. Whatever had happened, Ignis was duty-bound to find out. 

If there was some way to bring Prompto back, he would find it.

* * *

Ignis returned to Cleigne on the next caravan out, and walked back to the Chocobo Post. Wiz welcomed him warmly, grateful for both the company and the passive protection, and Ignis set himself up in the woods nearby. 

Ignis took the time to assemble Meldacio Meat Pies at the caravan and took them up to his campsite with him, reviewing the messages from the agriculture liaison and Sania as he ate and kept an ear open for Daemons. He tried to pretend he wasn’t listening for anything else, that he hadn’t deliberately left a little pile of the meat pies on the other side of his campfire in hopes the smell would lure in a more welcome guest.

Sure enough, after a few hours of waiting, Ignis heard uneven, shambling footsteps in the underbrush. His instincts were to jump, but instead he silently summoned his daggers and tucked them close to his sides, then continued to review his emails and compare the information to his notes. Anticipating interruption but trying not to expect it, he waited with bated breath as a familiar shadow approached. 

The MT soon stood on the opposite side of his fire. Ignis glanced up from his phone to see it staring at the little plate of meat pies. The MT looked at him, then at the meat pies, then again at him. Ignis adjusted his coat to ensure his daggers were completely hidden, then put his phone away.

“Oh, dear,” he said aloud, perhaps more exaggerated than he had to. “I seem to have extra. Would you like some?”

_ “W-would… I?”  _ Ignis could hear a familiar smile in that cadence.  _ “Th-these are… the apple of… my pie.” _

Ignis laughed, and extended a hand. “Help yourself.” With that, the MT sat down and took a pie, shoved its mask away, and began to eat it with rapacious enthusiasm. Once the first pie was gone, Ignis asked, “Are they good?”

_ “S-so good! Y-your cooking is the best.” _ The MT smiled with his crooked teeth, so bright and genuine.  _ “Th-the s-s-s-soup, too? Perfect. Y-you must’ve improved the recipeh.” _

Ignis’ eyes went wide, but he mustered up an answer. “I’m afraid I’ve not had as much time to experiment or come up with new ideas, lately. Nobody to cook for, either.”

_ “Th-that’s a shame.”  _ The MT cocked his head, and Ignis almost didn’t hear the mechanical distortion garbling his words.  _ “I’ll t-t-t-t-t-” _ It twitched briefly, but Ignis offered:

“Taste test for me?”

The MT nodded, then took another bite.  _ “It’s b-b-better than home cooking.” _

“I only ever learned to cook for Noct, and then for my friends.” Ignis folded his arms around his knees, and reached down to dismiss his daggers one by one. “I’ve missed it.”

_ “M-me too.” _ The MT—no,  _ Prompto _ finished the next meat pie, and Ignis took more from the Armiger, compelled to give him whatever he could. 

Ignis spoke to him of simple things, gentle things, until he finally wearied and asked him, “Will you visit again? I promise to make you dinner.”

_ “I’ll come back,” _ Prompto replied, and the last thing Ignis saw when he nodded off was the MT crouched six feet away from him.

When he woke a few hours later, the MT was gone, but the fire seemed to have been freshly stoked. Ignis, too, found his need to do whatever he could for Prompto burning anew. 


	5. 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis gleans more information about the origins of the MTs from Aranea, then prepares to reclaim Prompto from the wilderness, one way or another...

**5:**

Ignis couldn’t live at the Chocobo Post all the time. However, what he did do was prepare a few shelf-stable snacks and leave them with Wiz when he departed, instructing him to placeone at Prompto's favorite overlook whenever he could safely traverse the path. Hopefully Prompto would come across them and have the wherewithal to know Ignis meant them for him. 

It was time to have a very frank conversation with Aranea. 

As he hitched a ride on a transport to Lestallum, he sat against a crate of beans and sent her a message requesting a call. She called him back minutes later.

_ “Just call next time.”  _ Ignis could hear her rolling her eyes from half a hemisphere away.  _ “It’s not like you can wake me up in the middle of the night anymore.” _

“Indeed, though I’d rather not interrupt you in the midst of anything vital.”

_ “Like fighting for my life?”  _ Aranea snorted, and Ignis chuckled in return.

“I consider that most vital.”

They exchanged pleasantries—it was small things like that, Ignis believed, that kept him civilized—but he didn’t wait long to cut to the chase. 

“I’ve been observing our errant Magitek Trooper near the chocobo post.”

_ “And?” _ Despite her brash tone, Ignis could hear interest.

“And…” He halted, debating how much he could or should say. “I admit I’ve not gotten solid proof of anything. However, I can confirm that it has at least human elements under the armor. In addition, it speaks, though the voice is modulated by something in its throat.” It wasn’t in the helmet. Prompto’s voice still had that strange, tinny quality even when the helmet was up. “It’s docile unless provoked, as well. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was human.”

_ “Yeah?” _ She sounded disappointed.  _ “That’s strange. Doesn’t really mesh with anything I know about the damn things.” _

Ignis rolled his shoulders against the side of the crate, straightening his back. “What is it you know that we don’t?”

_ “Hmph. You don’t want to know, and I’m not sure you’ll believe me.” _

Ignis could certainly relate, but he knew there was a difference between the facts of the MTs and his own personal turmoil. “Lucis has wanted to know what the MTs are for as long as they’ve existed. I assure you, I will believe anything you tell me, though forgive me if you provoke curiosity and I ask questions nonetheless.” 

Aranea laughed, but he heard her shift.  _ “Fine. Well.”  _ There was a stretch of silence, and Ignis heard the wheels running under them and distant noises. Aranea sighed.  _ “So. What does Lucis think they are?” _

“Automatons, controlled by AI or a remote pilot.” Ignis tucked his phone against his ear and recalled Prompto, bumbling along clumsily in his armor. “However, when Lucian authorities did acquire the remnants of one, dissections and reverse engineering told us precious little. We found they had no power within city walls, and even when we were able to power it, we couldn’t operate it.”

_ “Yeah, figures.”  _ Aranea sniffed.  _ “Look, they’re… they’re not typical robots. You might’ve guessed by now.” _

“Then what are they?” He hesitated, then asked, “Are there brainwashed men pressed into that armor?”

_ “Nah, it’s worse than that.”  _ She sighed.  _ “The MT production facilities… yeah, making the armors themselves is one part of it. They’re sophisticated automated armors, for sure, but the actual thing that powers them and controls them is…”  _ Aranea paused, then groaned.  _ “People.” _

“People.”

_ “Humans.”  _ Aranea was silent again.  _ “It’s… it’s like this. Verstael Besithia’s big Deathless project was meant to make an army that would have no human casualties. Old Emperor Aldercapt was obsessed with Solheim, and their supposed magical golem army. He charged Besithia with finding a way to recreate their Magitek so they could make an army that didn’t die.” _

“Preposterous, and yet.”

_ “And yet,” _ Aranea echoed,  _ “he found a way. He realized he could transfer human intelligence into Magitek cores by distilling people corrupted with the plasmodia—you know, the daemon goop. So, instead of pressing Gralean citizens into service, they decided to make a whole army of pre-programmed Magitek cores that would autonomously control the Magitek armors, following Besithia’s programming.”  _ Aranea sounded disgusted.  _ “But since you’re a smart cookie, I’m betting you already figured out the problem with it.” _

“They made the cores with humans corrupted by the plasmodia,” Ignis said, a hand to his chest. “So, where did they get the humans to create those cores?”

_ “That is the question, isn’t it?” _

“Surely they didn’t just allow people to become infected?” Ignis frowned as he thought of all those people, abandoned by their government. He had never felt guilt over killing an enemy soldier—it was his life or theirs, after all—but to be essentially forced into service by virtue of the corruption—

_ “No. The truth is even uglier than that.”  _ There was a rustle on the other end of the line, and Aranea sighed again.  _ “Besithia found that he couldn’t just take people who were already corrupted. The cores he developed from that couldn’t be controlled. From the research notes I found, he theorized that their ego was the problem, so he wanted minds that never developed independent will.” _

That meant one thing. “Infants.” He covered his mouth. “If he was using infants, where did he—”

_ “He made them,” _ Aranea ground out.  _ “He found some way to clone himself, a couple hundred thousand times, raised them up in tubes until there was enough mass to convert into Magitek cores, then corrupted them with the plasmodia and converted them as soon as they were ripe.” _

“Astrals.” Ignis pinched his brow. “Creating all those lives just to convert them into... monsters.”

_ “Hmph.”  _ Aranea scoffed.  _ “Is it any better than marshaling up an army and forcing the least fortunate of society into service?” _

“Lucis never forced enlistment. Our soldiers always had a choice. Those humans who were turned into MTs never did.”

There was another long stretch of silence. Ignis heard the  _ snick  _ of a lighter—since when did Aranea smoke?—and a long exhale. 

_ “Yeah, maybe. We can debate the ethics of army recruitment later. But supposedly, those who knew about where the MTs came from were always just told, don’t think of them as people. They’ve never had an independent thought in their life, never wanted anything, never functioned as a person. Even so, the gut feeling of ‘we turned babies into soldiers,’ it’s a sour one.” _ Ignis grimaced as he listened; the very thought dizzied him, and yet, he sometimes wondered just how far he would go at King Regis’ —or King Noctis’—behest. _ “Either way, it’s what the Emperor demanded, and it’s what he got. Gave the Empire a numbers advantage, anyway. Thing is, even with the Magitek cores made the way they were, the only real way we were able to control them was with Ardyn involved. It’s like, the plasmodia obeyed Besithia’s programming only because the daemons in the machine had Ardyn’s permission.” _

Ignis absorbed for a moment, then conceded, “It’s useful information. Grim, but I’m thankful to know it.” He glanced out the window at the distant light from Lestallum, then back towards the shadows of the Chocobo Post sign on the black horizon. “So, I suppose I must now ask what that means for our last lone MT.”

_ “Well, it doesn’t obey Besithia, for sure, but the fact that you can see human parts tells me one of two things: one, without Besithia’s control, it’s turning or changing somehow. Alternatively, Besithia may have tried to make an MT, and without his usual materials, he decided to go a different route.” _

“I see.” Ignis squeezed his eyes shut. The memory of Prompto vanishing into the mass of rampaging MTs played against his eyelids like a horror movie, and he shook it off. “What do you suggest?”

_ “See if you can’t capture it. I could try to contact some of the people who said they worked on the MTs, get them to take a look at its core.” _

“I’ll see what I can do.” He rubbed his chin as he thought. “As I’ve said, it’s docile unless provoked, though I can’t be certain how it will react to captivity.”

Aranea chuckled.  _ “Only one way to find out. Good luck, Specs. Call me when you’ve caught it or killed it, whatever ends up happening.” _

He and Aranea said their farewells, and Ignis gazed back at the dimmed sign, still able to perfectly picture the cartoonish chocobo lit up by spotlights the way it had looked when the four of them had first come up on the post. He could still remember Prompto’s ridiculous smile at the very thought of being able to meet a real, live chocobo. He never thought he would get that delightful little earworm of a jingle out of his head. Now, he only wished he could recall the second verse. 

Prompto would remember. 

If there was any chance Ignis could find out how he had gotten into that armor, he would. More importantly, he would get Prompto out of it. 

* * *

Ignis sold off some of the assorted treasures he’d found on the roadside and spent every gil on ration tickets and food. (As little as the government was offering in guaranteed food, there were still those who would trade it away for something they thought more valuable, who would go hungry for money if there was something they wanted to buy, and there were plenty of people investing in weapons, just in case.)

He also invested in ropes and chains, and borrowed one of the power plant’s trucks. 

The next time he returned to the Chocobo Post, he would not be leaving alone. That MT was coming with him, one way or another. He didn’t relish the thought of having to harm him, but he knew just how far he could push Prompto before doing serious harm—bones broke easily, after all, so Ignis had to know where to draw the line and when to cross it. 

He rode back to the Chocobo Post and informed Wiz that there would be traps on the path. “I’ll be removing your malingerer,” he said with a smile, but Wiz frowned and clicked his tongue. 

“Is that so? Honestly, since I’ve started seeing more of him, I’ve come to mind him less.” Wiz had been kind enough to make and pour Ignis some coffee, and as Ignis sat at his table, sipping at his mug, Wiz went to the window and looked out. “There’s been less daemons since I started feeding him. I think he’s been killing them, like you said, and feeding him’s helped him keep up with it. The birds were happy.”

Ignis’ chest panged, and he put his mug aside, brow knit. “I imagine he liked the thought of that. However, I wonder if I might not be able to help the poor creature.”

“Does he need help?” Wiz’s fingers trembled a little against the glass. He turned back around to Ignis. “I never thought those creatures really wanted or needed anything, though, supposing he is protecting the post here on purpose, perhaps there’s more to it than it seems.”

Ignis hung his head and looked at his hands where they rested on the table. “I would agree.” 

“Well,” Wiz sighed, then returned to the table, “he’ll have a home here, if you can’t help him. Ain’t like I ever tried to talk to him or did much for him, but I can’t say I minded having him.”

“Hm.” Ignis lifted up his coffee mug again. “I’ll bear that in mind.”

Then, Wiz’s hand was on his wrist. “Same goes for you, young man.” Ignis glanced up, and saw that Wiz was smiling at him. “You can call this place home any time you like.”

Ignis laughed through his nose. “I appreciate your generosity, but I fear I’m needed far too many places to call any single one of them home.” 

He couldn’t stay at the caravan, no matter how he missed the comfort of even a rudimentary bed. Instead, he set up his camp in the woods as he had been, at the crossroads of the path to Deadeye’s den and the overlook of the chocobo post where Ignis had first spoken to the MT, and waited, listening intently for its approach. 

Ignis could hear daemons somewhere in the blackness of the night, but none close enough to alarm him. He instead remained vigilant for any familiar sounds of clanking footprints, as the night wore on and on. His vigil was only briefly interrupted by the odd Imp, but even those stopped coming after a while, and Ignis was alone again with the night and his thoughts.

Home...

_ They had been at the caravan. Ignis had made green curry soup on the caravan’s stove, and Prompto was standing by his side helping to wash the dishes in the sink. _

_ “I appreciate your assistance.” _

_ “No problem, Iggy!” He turned to Ignis with a smile that lit up the whole room. “After all, you cooked! It’s like, we have a walking, talking restaurant! And I haven’t got the cash to pay the bill.” He cocked his head back for a moment, pretending to mourn. “What else is little old me gonna do but wash the dishes?” _

_ Ignis chuckled, and shifted past him in the narrow gangway to retrieve his knives from the drying rack. “I suppose you could look at it that way. Did you wash the dishes at home, too?” _

_ That didn’t get an immediate answer, as Prompto’s focus narrowed to scrubbing off a particularly stubborn spot. The beat of silence was enough for Ignis to recall that Prompto was often home alone—of course he did dishes, who else would?  _

_ “Well,” Prompto said after a moment. “Someone had to! Otherwise, I’d run out.” He chuckled, but he didn’t look at Ignis again. Ignis drew his fingers in, rueing that such a detail might have slipped his mind—and yet, Prompto’s sudden avoidance of further conversation suggested that he may have overturned something that Prompto had been trying not to let slip himself. _

_ “I suppose so.” Ignis tucked his knives into their sleeves and dismissed them to the Armiger, then propped his hip on the counter and studied Prompto. “Or, are you perhaps keeping yourself busy to take your mind off of something else?” The way Prompto sucked his lower lip and cheeks in was answer enough for Ignis. He relaxed his shoulders, projecting ease and warmth as best as he knew how. “You can talk to me anytime, you know. We’re all in this together, and I’m always willing to hear you out, no matter how outlandish the thoughts occupying your mind might be. In short,” he cocked his head and smirked. “Dish.” _

_ A laugh escaped Prompto, like he’d been holding it back and had released it out of surprise, and he grinned at Ignis again. “That was a long way for a lame pun.” _

_ “And I’m the man who went there.” _

_ “Yeah, well.” Prompto rolled his eyes and continued to scrub. “I was just… y’know. Thinking of home.”  _

_ “Insomnia.” Ignis frowned and cast his gaze on the floor. The devastation that had struck them all with the loss of the city still weighed on all of them sometimes. However, Prompto shook his head.  _

_ “It’s not just about the Crown City. It’s… it’s about you all.” He bit his lip. “We’ve had some pretty close calls lately. Titan, then Ramuh…” _

_ Ignis shifted his weight. “It’s been a rocky road, yes. However, we’ve traveled it together.” _

_ “Right.” Prompto gave up focusing on the dishes, and pivoted towards Ignis. “And it’s been scary as hell, y’know? It’s… it’s like…” His hands opened and closed a few times, fingers finally squeezing into fists. “I never really… belonged… anywhere, before I met Noct, before I met you guys. I know I’m just Noct’s dumb friend, and you all probably think I’m just a nuisance—” _

_ “That’s not so.” Ignis had thought that for approximately half an hour, until he saw the way Prompto made Noctis smile. “You’re important to us.” _

_ “I’m glad you think so.” Prompto smiled sheepishly. “But, well.” He cast his gaze over Ignis’ shoulder. “Home, for me, was never really a place. It was wherever someone wanted me. And that’s you guys. I…” His breath hitched. “I was so scared I’d lose you… or that I’d mess up and you’d want to get rid of me—” _

_ Ignis braced Prompto’s shoulders in his. “It will not happen,” he said firmly. “Where we go, we go together. No man left behind. We are going to make it through this, all four of us.” He relaxed his hands as Prompto finally looked him in the eye. “You will always have a place with us, Prompto.”  _

_ Prompto’s lower lip wiggled, but he rubbed at the circles under his eyes and choked, between a laugh and a hiccup. “Heh. Well.” He inhaled deep, then looked Ignis in the face. “I’ll do my best to be worthy of that.” He turned back to the sink. “Thank you, Ignis.”  _

A rattle nearby disturbed Ignis from his thoughts, and he looked around carefully. He couldn’t see anything, and held his tension taut in his lungs, squeezing his eyes shut.

He still recalled so clearly the day they’d left for Altissia, Cor Leonis’ reminders to them to stay together, and Cid telling them they were not merely Noctis’ bodyguards, but brothers. The way Prompto bit his lip at the very notion returned to his mind too easily. Prompto had wanted to belong. He’d wanted to be “worthy of that,” too. 

Where had that loyalty left him?

There was a clatter now, and Ignis saw the underbrush shaking. He readied a dagger, prepared to strike, only to drop it in an instant when Prompto, armor askew and dented, staggered through and toppled into his campsite. An Imp leapt after him, landing on Prompto’s back and stabbing at him, but Ignis threw his other dagger and pierced the awful thing through the throat, then dismissed the knife and got down on hands and knees to grab Prompto’s shoulders. He could see stab wounds in Prompto’s chest through the gaps in the armor, and grabbed a potion out.

“You’re hurt. Let me—”

_ “No,” _ Prompto moaned, shaking his head and his helmet along with it. 

He was delirious, Ignis was certain, but he put the potion close to the biggest wounds on Prompto’s chest. Prompto flinched back before he could crack it, tumbling over onto his back. In the firelight, Ignis could see the blood that was draining from him was black as pitch.

He held his breath for a second, then released it. Now was no time to panic. If panicking ever solved anything, Ignis would do it much more frequently, obviously, and with vigor, but now was not the time. 

“I need to help you. I’m going to help you.” Ignis put the potion away and held his hand out to Prompto. “If the potion frightens you, we can find another way.” He got low, hands extended, shoulders hunched, to try to hold Prompto’s eyes through the mask. “Let me help you.”

Prompto’s ragged breathing was the only sound for a tense minute. Then, his cracked, distorted voice croaked out:  _ “Help. Please.” _

Ignis made to pick him up, then stopped short: “Can I?”

_ “Help.” _ Prompto squeezed his eyes shut under the mask, bruised eyelids visible through the slits.  _ “Please.” _

Ignis lifted him up—Prompto’s body was strangely light for the armor it was encased in, a frightening realization in itself—then wrapped his arm around his shoulder and hauled him to the Post. __


	6. 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis sets about healing Prompto's injuries - to surprisingly results - then takes Prompto to the only safe place he can think of.

**6:**

Wiz had taken one look at Prompto braced on Ignis’ back and shoulder and, without even a moment of cajoling, gave Ignis an armful of first aid supplies and helped him get Prompto into Ignis’ borrowed truck. 

“Take care of him, young man.” 

Ignis couldn’t be certain if Wiz wanted to ensure Prompto could get help, or if Wiz wanted to get Prompto as far away from him as possible, as quickly as he could. No matter the reason, Ignis was grateful. He loaded Prompto in, laying him across the back seat, turned on the cab light, and cracked open the first aid kit. 

“I’m going to try to examine you first.” He began to peel at the seams of Prompto’s armor, but Prompto flinched again and Ignis instinctively yanked his hands back. What was the old joke? Metal men yield little, but bones bent so easily. 

He wasn’t certain where he could remove the armor. When he was able to find a seam, the armor seemed to be bolted into his skin, and when Ignis tried to pry it loose, he whimpered again. Ignis’ heart twisted at the look on Prompto’s face—pain, but worse, resignation. Like each pang was all part of his fate.

Finally, Ignis resorted to the only thing he could think to do. He examined the wounds through the gaps in the armor using a bright flashlight, plucked out as much of the debris as he could reach with the tweezers in his first aid kit, and patched what he could with bandages. Then, he took out the potion.

“You remember these, don’t you?” He held the flashlight up to the potion. Noctis had left so precious few before he’d been taken away, they were reserved for only the most dire situations. Ignis remembered, too fondly, those quiet nights by the fire when Noctis would be charging potions with one hand and playing King’s Knight with Prompto with the other. Prompto had to recognize it. Sure enough, he nodded after a moment, then patted his armor with his fingertips.

_ “Don’t know… how…”  _ He managed a hearty thump against his chestplate.  _ “Might hurt… don’t wanna waste it…” _

“It’s always helped you before,” Ignis reasoned. “You’re still a human, I know you are.”

Prompto shook his head and hit his chestplate with the flat of his fist again.  _ “Not sure.” _

Ignis squeezed his eyes shut, wanting to shout, wanting to insist, but Prompto was right. They weren’t sure. “Prompto,” he whispered, straining to sound as reasonable and enticing as possible. “I fear that I cannot safely remove your armor right now. I don’t know how else to help you until I can safely remove your armor. It’s just Noctis’ magic, it’s never done anything in this form but heal. I’m going to give it to you.”

Prompto stared at him, eyes glassy and wide, before he finally slumped and let his arms fall to his side.  _ “Don’t have… better idea.” _

Ignis cracked the potion over Prompto, and its magic illuminated him blue for a moment. Prompto yelled and writhed, grasping and clawing at his chest again, but his wounds closed. Ignis hushed him and held his arms still as he convulsed, his narrow limbs trembling and quaking, until the magic fizzled away and he relaxed again. Ignis could see that the wounds had closed, and when he glanced to Prompto’s face, he was faintly smiling under the mask.

_ “M’glad it worked.” _

“As am I.” Ignis smiled, then sat back. “I’m going to take you somewhere safe for a bit.”

He didn’t want to tell Prompto he wanted somewhere to really sit him down and examine him, to find how to pry away that hellish armor, to examine what had been done to him. He also didn’t want to tell Prompto he wasn’t certain where he was going. 

There were few options: Lestallum or Hammerhead. There were a few smaller settlements here and there, but they were dying one by one, blinking out like shooting stars, and Ignis couldn’t be certain any one of them would still be there when he arrived. Lestallum would have the most resources, but it would also have the most people, people who might be frightened at the sight of even a facsimile of one of the Empire’s soldiers, no matter how many years had passed since they’d last been all but omnipresent on the continent. Hammerhead was remote, but it had tools and perhaps those few people there, especially those he counted as friends and allies, would be of use.

Hammerhead it would be. 

Ignis put the pedal down and drove out onto the main road, heading East, towards Insomnia. In the truck bed, Prompto slowly sat, the metal scraping against the plastic floorplate, and Ignis saw him turn to watch the world pass by out the window. He wasn’t talking, but then, Ignis couldn’t blame him for not being talkative. He was likely in more pain than words could express. 

Ignis had felt such pain before. The pain of wearing the Ring was unspeakable. The pain of losing both Noctis and Prompto almost immediately after that pain was alleviated, even worse.

He turned on the radio, hoping to catch a pirate signal, and lucked into a station from one of the Hunter Outposts in Leide. It was a little fuzzy, but it played a familiar old tune that Ignis recognized from when he was a child, sitting in the back seat of his uncle’s car driving between their flat and the Citadel. 

Then, Ignis heard a faint tapping, and checked the rearview mirror. Prompto, behind him, had begun to bob his head and tap his hands against the floor, bopping to the beat, and delight bloomed through Ignis. 

How many hours had Prompto spent watching the world pass them by, passing stretches of sunlight-drenched plain past the Regalia’s windows, singing along with the radio, off-key but with delight in every note? How many hours had Ignis spent watching Noctis and Prompto laughing in the front seat as they drove between outposts, tombs, and Havens? 

It seemed like a dream now. Especially when contrasted against the nightmare that was Prompto’s skeletal form, encased in cold metal, still trying to sing along, broken words and breathless melodies, so soft Ignis could barely make them out.

* * *

Ignis pulled into Hammerhead after a few hours of driving, and approached Cid where he was sitting at the open door to the garage. He glanced back at the truck as he left it, hoping the Glaives on duty didn’t peek into the cab, but when he faced Cid, he found the old man glowering at him.

“You ain’t here to shoo me off to Lestallum again, are ya, boy?” His hackles were raising already, even though his legs were growing shaky from arthritis as he straightened himself in his chair. Ignis shook his head.

“I fear if Cindy could not convince you, I’ll not have an ounce more luck.” Cid was growing weaker with age, and the stress of rationing and having his garage turned into an informal Glaive training yard and outpost was doing him no favors, but at the same time, he refused to give up his place in the world, and Ignis couldn’t blame him for that. For now, it meant there was one more person here he thought he could trust. “However, I’ve brought some rather precious cargo. With your permission, I’d like to bring my truck into the garage and close the door to unload it.”

Cid’s brow furrowed, but he brought himself to his feet. “Sure, sure, drive it on in.” 

He hobbled over to the garage door controls, and Ignis returned to the van, hopped into the driver’s seat, and steered into the garage. Prompto poked his head forward.

_ “C-Cid?” _

“Yes, Cid. We’re at Hammerhead. You remember Hammerhead, don’t you?”

He parked in the garage, and Cid shut the garage door. Cindy bounded in, wearing a yellow jumpsuit zipped up and her hair tied up under her hat, just as the door touched the ground.

“Paw-paw, what’s goin’ on?”

“Ignis brought by something valuable, he says.” Cid flapped a hand towards Ignis as he hobbled over to one of the seats by the workbench. “Go on and unload it, you can take it to storage downstairs.”

“I suppose.” Ignis alighted from the cab and circled around to the truck’s back door. He hesitated with his hand on the door. “Only, it’s valuable in a way you may not expect, and more precious than words can truly say.”

He opened the doors, revealing Prompto huddled in the cab in his armor. Cindy shrieked, and Cid grabbed a shotgun from his workbench. Ignis threw himself between Cid and Prompto. 

“Yield, I beg of you! He’s harmless unless threatened!”

“And how the hell am I supposed to know that!” Cid aimed his shotgun, and Ignis planted his heels, shifting his body to ensure he was between Prompto’s line of sight and the barrel of the gun. 

“I drove all the way here from the Chocobo Post with him, and the worst I had to suffer was his terrible singing!” He looked between Cid and Cindy, Cid livid, Cindy shocked and horrified. “It’s Prompto, for Heaven’s sake. I’ve found him.” 

“Found?” Cindy repeated, and crept a step closer. Cid swore and hobbled off into the attached living quarters. Ignis shifted aside to let her see him.

“It seems the Empire left him alive, but not entirely himself.” He reached for Prompto’s hand. Prompto turned his palm over and took it, and Ignis smiled at him, so broadly that the notch in his lip pulled and ached. “Prompto has not yet been able to articulate what happened to him, but he’s proven that he recognizes me, at least. Prompto, do you remember Cindy?” He winked at him. “Your ‘Grease Monkey Goddess?’” 

Prompto croaked out a laugh.  _ “So… embarrassing… D-don’t tell her, okay? I d-don’t have a chance… anyway…” _ His modulated voice wheezed between words, and behind Ignis, Cindy gasped.

“It is him, ain’t it?” She crept a little closer, then leaned into the cab. “Prompto? D’you remember me?”

Prompto nodded.  _ “H-hi, Cindy.” _

“It sounds like him, mostly,” Cindy whispered, then extended a hand. Prompto took it, and she carefully pulled him out and up to his feet. He was still tired and weak from his injury, and he didn’t put up a fight as she pulled the mask away from his face. For the first time, Ignis got a good look for himself.

It was unmistakably Prompto. His cheeks were hollow, starved thin, and his eyes were wet and gleamed unnaturally red. His freckles had faded to nearly nothing, his yellow hair was grease-slicked down against his face, but it was him. 

Cindy clearly believed it now too, shaking her head as she pushed the mask away. “Aw, sug, what’d they do to you?”

The garage door opened suddenly, and Cid marched in with one of the training shields. “Cindy, you get back from that thing!” 

Ignis put himself between Prompto and Cid again, as Cid snatched up his gun again and advanced on him. Prompto yelled as the gun neared him, and shoved his mask down. Ignis lunged and pressed the gun against his own chest.

“Don’t you dare!”

_ “No,”  _ Prompto moaned, and Cid shoved Ignis out of the way just in time to get a look at his face before Prompto turned tail and fled. 

“Prompto, wait!” 

Ignis tried to chase him, but Prompto was just as fast as he’d always been despite his injuries, lurching and stumbling for the gates. He jumped and scaled the gate before any of the Glaives could ready their weapons and bolted into the desert, and Ignis swore as he reached the gates just as Prompto’s back vanished into the darkness. 

He turned and stormed back towards the garage entirely unable to keep the anger from his posture. Cid was just as angry when he returned, shouting at Ignis and shaking his shotgun. 

“Don’t you ever pull a fool stunt like that again, boy! I’d’ve shot you!”

“You’d have struck me in an effort to kill one of our old friends,” Ignis snapped back. “It took me weeks to get close enough, to earn his trust—”

“What the hell happened to him?!” Cid put his face far too close to Ignis’, hot breath rolling across his jaw. “How the hell did that boy get stuffed into that armor?!”

“I’m trying to find out! I had hoped to use the facilities here as a safe haven to examine him!” Ignis gestured in the direction Prompto had run. “Apparently, that was too much to ask!”

“You damn fool, how do you know it ain’t some Imperial trap?!” Cid’s lip curled over crooked, chipped teeth. “The war ain’t over, ain’t no treaties been signed, and them Niffs still hate Lucis just as much as they did before the sun went away!”

“It’s not a trap,” Ignis hissed, jaw and scalp aching at the very thought. “It’s… it’s Prompto.” The wind was taken out of his sails, fury melting into sorrow as the image of Prompto vanishing into the darkness once more haunted him. “It’s Prompto,” he repeated, and slumped back against the truck’s side. “I’ve lost him again. It has to be Prompto, though.” Cid and Cindy traded a look, as Ignis gripped his forehead. “Whatever are we going to tell Noctis if it isn’t?”

What would it do to their hearts to lose him again? 


	7. 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis remains at Hammerhead, waiting for another chance to recapture Prompto. However, he can't afford to remain idle now, and calls on the resources he has at hand to research the MTs.

**7:**

Ignis couldn’t leave Hammerhead, not while he knew Prompto was still out there, roaming the desert nearby. He hoped upon hope that Prompto would find some safe haven in the badlands, hole up in a cave or a dry gulch, and his wounds would heal with the aid of the potion. He began to search for signs of him when he could, but he knew he had other work to do. He also wanted to be ready for when he did manage to bring Prompto in again. 

When, not if. Helping Prompto was not something Ignis could deprioritize. There was precious little he could do to make their greenhouses become operable faster, he couldn’t stop daemons from spawning around their settlements, and half the time, their makeshift council spent more time arguing than making any progress. However, even if those were hopeless endeavors, he had to do whatever he could for Prompto. 

He negotiated something of an arrangement with Cid. He would stay and assist the Glaives there when he wasn’t called away to Lestallum on business, and Cid would allow him to stay near Prompto. Once Ignis was able to locate him and coax him back into the garage, he’d try to take care of him there. Ignis suspected that Cid felt some measure of guilt, or at least discomfort, with frightening Prompto away, and was willing to bend his prejudice in hopes that their lost man had somehow returned to them. Cid had known Prompto too, after all.

Ignis decided it was time to call in aid. After his first unsuccessful search for Prompto, he called Aranea.

_ “How’s that investigation into that rogue MT going?” _

“Not so much as a ‘how do you do,’ then.” Ignis smiled wryly, pinching his brow as he settled onto the cot in the caravan. “It’s hit a bit of difficulty, if I’m being quite frank.”

He recounted his encounter with “the MT” (he couldn’t divulge that it was Prompto, not yet, she had to see him for herself in order to believe him), and that “the MT” had run when threatened.

_ “Ran rather than fight, did it?” _

“As quickly as it could. Spry thing, he is.” Ignis sighed. All the years Prompto had spent running, and this was how he put his speed to use—spiting Ignis’ efforts to help him. 

_ “That’s weird. I take it you’re trying to track him down again?” _

“Correct.” Ignis glanced out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the floodlights reflecting on armor, or of red eyes in the distant dark. “But I’d like to be a bit more prepared when I do get my hands on him again.”

Aranea sighed, then chuckled.  _ “What are you thinking?” _

“I’d appreciate it if you could provide me with any samples of the Magitek armor you might have access to.” Ignis tugged at his brow. “The armor itself, as complete as you can manage, or the Magitek cores. I’d like to examine how they’re assembled, and get some insight on the core.”

There was silence. Ignis could hear Aranea’s airship humming behind her. Finally, she relented,  _ “I’ll get you what I can, Four-Eyes. Where am I bringing it?” _

“The Hammerhead garage, a few miles from the old Insomnia checkpoint. It’s well-lit, you’ll hardly be able to miss it.” 

They traded farewells, and the moment the line went silent, Ignis dialed another call.

“Good afternoon, Doctor Yeagre.”

Sania chuckled.  _ “Oh, you can tell?” _

“There’s a faint gradient between day and night, yes.” 

They traded pleasantries—Sania had been deep into researching the Starscourge when she wasn’t planning their indoor fauna reserves, moving between outposts to collect samples wherever she could and performing experimentation as carefully as possible, so Ignis hadn’t had a chance to catch up with her for some time. 

_ “I still haven’t found a good way to eradicate it,” _ she admitted.  _ “Though I’ve got pretty comprehensive notes on its behavior. How it spreads, rate of reproduction, all the nitty gritty.” _

“It may come in handy,” Ignis remarked. “The more we know about our enemy, the better.” The notion gave him pause, and he relented and tipped his hand. “Of course, I’ve been doing a bit of looking into how the Starscourge may relate to an old enemy of ours, the Magitek. I have reason to believe they’re related.”

He had Sania’s interest. He could hear her breath quicken. 

Sania agreed to hurry to Hammerhead if Ignis could acquire a Magitek core, and Ignis was grimly satisfied that he was doing everything he could. 

* * *

Aranea arrived one day with a partial Magitek armor in tow. She carted it into the garage, and Ignis took one cursory look, called Sania, then laid it on an empty workbench and set about taking it apart. Aranea watched with amusement as Ignis found every screw and seal, then carefully disassembled it.

“Never had to be this careful with them in the field, huh?” She traced the jagged edge where the top left shoulder and head of the MT had been severed from the torso. Ignis shrugged.

“Had I time to assess them in the field, I would likely have done so. Made it easier to know their weak spots, how to best take them apart.” 

He wedged the chestplate open at last, revealing the inner core of the MT. The chest cavity was packed with material, no hollows for a human body—like Ignis had expected, like they’d always been taught. However, there was a curious battery in the center of it, like a faintly gleaming red gem set in black metal.

“That’s it,” Aranea pointed at the gem, “That’s the core. Seen enough of those things on some of the Magitek monsters Besithia dreamed up.”

“Did you, now?” Ignis examined the setting, looking for a place to break the core away without damaging it. 

“Yeah. The Diamond Weapon, it’s this massive armor he unleashed on the Crown City once the infiltrators managed to take the wall down. It had a core the size of a Garula.” Aranea clicked her tongue. “Wouldn’t suggest touching it with your bare hands.”

“I think I’ll wait for Doctor Yeagre before making an attempt.” Ignis looked at all the dissembled pieces of the MT strewn on the table, like so many dismembered body parts, and suppressed a shiver to think of Prompto.

Sania arrived on her motorbike and strolled in with some of her kit in a bag and a set of extraordinarily thick gloves—high density black rubber, which she told him she always exposed to UV light after coming into contact with the Scourge, and gawked at the disassembled MT for a long moment. 

“Is this your rogue you mentioned?”

“My rogue is unique. However, I suspect they have their core in common.” Ignis gestured to the core. Sania took one look, then yanked on her gloves and picked up a screwdriver. The core popped out with ease, and she took it and held it to the light.

The core was translucent, like a ruby, but it had faint shadows within, like dust was scattered inside of it. Sania studied it under the light, then using a magnifying glass. She attempted to cut part of it away, but the gem itself was resistant to being cut in any way. 

“Curious,” she remarked, then faced Ignis. “I’d like to examine this in my laboratory. Mind if I drive this back over there? I’ll call you when I get there.”

Ignis agreed, and she put the core into a rubber bag clearly meant for containing samples and sped away. Aranea waited with him, as he continued to examine the armor. 

“Are you finding what you’re looking for?”

“No. Er, perhaps yes, but truthfully, I feel that understanding the armor will be half the battle.” 

“Oh?” Aranea stood close, and he could feel her studying him. “What battle is that?”

Ignis glanced at her, hesitating. “My rogue. Something’s unique about him. I’m trying to understand.”

“You’re saying ‘him.’”

“Beg pardon?”

“You’re saying ‘him,’ not ‘it.’” Aranea smirked, but her brow knit up. “You know something you’re not telling me.”

Ignis grimaced and pinched his brow. “I’ve a theory. I’m nearly entirely certain of it, but until I’m beyond a shadow of a doubt, I don’t want to raise any hopes but my own.”

Aranea hummed, sidling closer to Ignis’ shoulder as he turned the pieces of the shattered MT over. “How are you doing, Four-eyes?”

Ignis snorted, lifting the shattered chestplate and avoiding Aranea’s gaze. “No worse than anyone else.” 

“You sure? It’s been a hard few years for everyone, but you definitely have had it a little tougher than most.” She nudged his arm with her elbow. “You’ve been trying to keep as many people alive as you can, hoping this’ll all go away when your Prince comes back, after losing someone important to you. Did you even get a chance to really mourn? Come to terms with what you found out about your Prince?”

Ignis pursed his lips, focusing squarely on the MT’s hollow chest. “I haven’t got time for that. He’s not dead yet, and if I have my way, I’ll find a way to circumvent that.”

“You say that, but have you gotten anywhere on that?” Aranea shifted, trying to force herself into his view. 

“Frankly, this may be my best lead yet.” Ignis traced the hollow where the Magitek core sat. “Based on my analysis of how the MTs work thus far, the way the cores interact with the generators that were once scattered across Lucis, it seems that the Magitek units were somewhat analogous to Kingsglaive soldiers—granted power from the Crystal by His Majesty. The Crystal allows those connected to it, especially its Kings, to tap into its powers and to use and manipulate the magic.” He faced her. “It’s a curious thought, but it seems to me that the Magitek and the plasmodia that power them are to Ardyn as the Crystal and its magic are to the Kings of Lucis.”

“Is that what you’re thinking?” Aranea frowned. “And what’s that got to do with the Prince?”

“Noctis’ death.” Ignis squeezed his eyes shut. “His Majesty, King Regis, burned the candle of his life at both ends powering and maintaining the great Wall around Insomnia. The Crystal drains the life of its user, but it seems that Noctis must gather that power and use it and the power of the Lucii to subdue Ardyn, but doing so will drain his life. I fear that the power he needs to seal this evil away will burn him to nothing.”

“Interesting. So, you think by studying the Magitek—”

“—I might find a way to circumvent its opposite.” Ignis bit his lip at the thought. “I studied the prophecies, every text I could find. I’ve more I haven’t read, but every bit of theory, every study of the Cosmogony, every interpretation of that particular prophecy, none of it offers any sort of ambiguity that the Chosen King must die.” He shook his head. “But if I could somehow find a workaround...”

The vision Pryna had sent him, of Noctis’ soul burning as he entered the other world, the old Kings of Lucis striking him dead on the throne, of going to the other side to destroy Ardyn’s soul where it slept—that couldn’t be the only way. Surely Pryna was warning him. Pryna wanted him to prevent it, as surely Lunafreya herself would have wanted to.

“I can’t let it happen.”

Aranea was silent, smile sunken away, brow furrowed as she examined the Magitek. “Well.” She clicked her tongue. “You’re missing a little, when it comes to the Magitek. I don’t know everything, but I know this—Magitek drains the life of its user too. It’s fueled on the life force of whatever was converted into it.” She touched the hole where the core had sat. “They only last so long, but nobody’s ever actually tracked one to see how long it can survive on its core. They were disposable soldiers that rarely lasted more than a few deployments. Those Magitek generators were boosters, made them more aggressive, but the way I told you the cores were made? That’s the life they’re living on.” 

“I see.”

Ignis frowned, and couldn’t avoid wondering, after seeing Noctis crumple in stasis so many times after over extending himself. If Prompto had a core, how long would he survive in that armor?

“Whatever’s up with your rogue?” Aranea punched his shoulder. “We’ll sort it out. If it’s got you hung up this bad, it must be something.”

Sania called back later—specifically, while Ignis and Aranea were eating a simple soup Ignis had prepared for the two of them in Takka’s diner—to confirm what Ignis suspected. 

_ “The Magitek cores are compressed, crystallized plasmodia! I think it must have been superheated and bonded with some sort of organic material, such as carbon or lead, and then hypercompressed to create these gems!” _

Ignis and Aranea, each leaning over the table towards the phone, exchanged a look. 

“Wonder what sort of machinery it takes to create something like the huge one on those massive Magitek armors,” Aranea mused, tapping her bowl with her spoon.

“Perhaps we’ll have to examine the Magitek Production facilities, when we’re able.” Ignis pushed his bowl back. “However, that confirms my suspicions. I’ll have to continue to research. Sania, call me if you learn anything more.”

She agreed, and he could imagine her hanging up as fast as possible to continue studying the makeup of the Magitek cores. He took his partially finished bowl and poured its contents into a thermos, which Aranea noticed, raising an eyebrow. 

“Miss Highwind, I do appreciate your visit. Did you plan to stay at all, or—”

“I’ve likely got to head back towards Tenebrae. We’re digging through some of the old Solheim sites there. Seems like they’re pits for daemons.” She scoffed, lip curling as she stood and smoothed her jacket. “But it was good catching up. Keep me on notice if you learn anything interesting, or when you’re ready to brave the Gralean badlands with a Gralean bad girl.” She winked, and Ignis smiled in return, wan but sincere.

“You’ll be the first I call. Allow me to walk you to the gates.”

He escorted her out of the diner and to the gates, carrying the thermos with him. He stopped past the edge of the lights and left the thermos there, and Aranea stopped short of the door to her airship to frown at him.

“What, you making an offering to the daemons?”

“No.” He smiled wryly, and gazed into the distance in the hopes of catching a glimpse of red eyes. “I’m feeding a stray.”

* * *

It was the only real idea Ignis had to lure Prompto back in, to do anything to help him. Feed Prompto what he could.

It was foolish, especially given that food was becoming scarcer by the week as their resources failed them, but Ignis would make an effort to eat only half of whatever he scrounged for himself and put whatever he could out for Prompto, just past the lights, where Prompto would hopefully find it and recall a little more of his humanity in meals. Hunger gnawed faintly in the periphery of Ignis’ mind every time he left his plate half-full in vain hopes that Prompto could at least have something to satiate himself.

The memory of Prompto eating that raw, rotten turnip haunted him, as did the thought of Prompto starving as a boy. Ignis couldn’t allow it.

The food vanished. Ignis retrieved empty plates and thermoses at daybreak, creeping out at the faintest shift in the sky to collect them. He wondered sometimes if it weren’t the daemons or what few wild animals remained taking it, but he had no way to be certain.

Until he did.

He emerged the morning after Aranea left and found a small cache of potatoes and peppers where the thermos had been. The thermos itself was empty—licked clean.

He remembered Prompto bringing snacks to Noctis’ place, helping forage for ingredients on the road, sidling up to Ignis’ side at camp and asking if he could help. Setting the table. Washing the dishes. He always did the dishes.

Ignis had to stop himself from breaking over the thought of a plate licked clean.

“Come back, Prompto,” he whispered, and went to make potato hash. 

* * *

Ignis stayed on at Hammerhead after that, falling into a comfortable groove. Cid and Cindy were tolerant of his presence, even grateful when he joined in defending the gates or when he cooked for the entire encampment,and he could take phone calls from the rest of those trying to keep Eos functional from there as easily as anything.

What more good could he do anywhere else? He couldn’t make more food stores appear in Lestallum by going there. He wasn’t a construction worker, and even if he were, he wouldn’t be able to single-handedly build more greenhouses or convert space for livestock, certainly no faster than the teams Holly was trying to arrange. Gladio was the first to take a bike halfway across the continent when Hunter HQ needed an extra hand, or when one of the few lit encampments was coming under siege. He could listen, think, and review their resources anywhere. He could continue to devour what information he had, scouring for more about both Noctis’ fate and the Starscourge itself from here. 

The information he had painted a grim picture, anyway. The Scourge itself was darkness made manifest, and acted like a disease that made monsters of men. The Oracles and rare healers could cure it or purify it, but the Oracles were dead and the last true healer on record supposedly succumbed to the disease itself, though the history of that was so distant that even that account was questionable. Supposedly, the Chosen King could use the light of the Crystal and all of his strength to burn out the Scourge, but the mechanics by which that was possible were questionable at best. 

And yet, this Besithia had somehow found a way to harness that dark magic. He’d managed to control and manipulate that evil and crystallize it. 

_ How? _

It surely wasn’t all Ardyn Izunia’s doing, was it? Izunia seemed to be possessed by the darkness, like an avatar thereof—a host, but immune to truly turning from man into daemon. Then again, what could Izunia be called? He wasn’t human; the powers he displayed disqualified him from humanity. However, as much as Izunia seemed more Scourge than man (and Ignis had a whole host of theories as to what that meant with regard to Noctis’ fate), he likely didn’t have the knowhow to manipulate it so. He and Besithia surely collaborated on this.

Ignis needed to find out what he’d done.

He continued to study, looking for any hint of the truth that had been lost over the eons the Scourge had run ramshod over Eos, barely contained by the Oracles and the mercy of sunlight. He continued to try to preserve the world, frustrated by the continued dwindling of their resources but remaining undaunted—surrender was not an option, after all. And, most importantly, perhaps, he continued to feed Prompto.

Prompto continued to come to retrieve whatever meal Ignis had left for him, never coming until long after Ignis had left. Prompto likewise continued to leave foraged foods. He apparently was having much more luck digging for potatoes and finding peppers than he had been finding food in the forests—perhaps because the potatoes were growing safely underground, and the peppers grew in prickly little bushes that predators were unlikely to savage. What little light did come through must have been enough, or perhaps the floodlights over Hammerhead reached a little further than they realized. Ignis wouldn’t question the blessings or the bounty. He could prepare potatoes a dozen ways and Prompto always left plenty, enough to share.

It was likely the closest thing Prompto could do when it came to communication. Too afraid to come back to Ignis after being threatened, but showing that he was alive and that he was grateful for Ignis still doing his best to take care of him. 

The weeks spent at Hammerhead had been the closest Ignis had to a real routine for years now. Somehow, five years had passed since Noctis had vanished and Ignis had never really had time to truly find a new normal. He didn’t want to get used to living this way, but if life in the dark was the only life there was, then he had to at least adapt. He could nearly say he’d become comfortable with his life—research when he wasn’t needed to go out and protest the garage and settlements, quietly running the world from the corner of a garage, and doing whatever he could to take care of Prompto.

It was inevitable that change would come.

It so happened to be the precipice of daytime hours and nighttime hours, right as the faint shift in light that divided day from night was occurring. Ignis was putting out a plate with a baked potato and fried salted Anak strips for Prompto, leaving it on a rock outside of the gates. 

However, just as he turned to go back into Hammerhead’s gates, there was the roar of a motor, and Ignis turned to see a daemon-repelling headlight switch off. Gladio was there mounted on his motorcycle, sword strapped to his back, and he flipped the kickstand and dismounted. Ignis stood as Gladio marched towards him.

“Thought I’d find you here,” he said, sounding remarkably unhappy. Ignis straightened his back, digging in his heels.

“Is there some problem with that?” 

“You’re needed elsewhere.” Gladio kept marching towards him, shoulders back, a scowl firmly in place. He’d gotten bigger—more muscular, at least—and his hair had grown longer, now half tied up to keep it from his face, and his beard was getting more full, too. Ignis stood his ground, refusing to be intimidated.

“I’m doing the most important jobs I can here—”

“Where were you when the lights at the Norduscaen Blockade fell?” Gladio sneered.

“I was south of here, defending the motel.” Ignis crossed his arms. “I’ve not been idle—”

“You could be doing more if you weren’t just wasting time here! What are you even doing?”

The accusation stung—how could Gladio not understand? 

“I’ve been doing research. Staying in one place has given me time to read the materials I recovered from the temples in Altissia, from the Insomnia archives, from Lestallum’s libraries!” He stormed towards him. “I’ve also been doing research with regard to the rogue MT, and I feel like I’m on the verge of a—”

“Yeah, yeah, Aranea told me, last time we talked.” He sneered. “So you took apart a broken MT, big deal, I can take apart a live MT!” He tapped the hilt of his sword. “What the hell does that have to do with the prophecy?”

Ignis inhaled sharply, summoning all the patience he had and biting off every tiny word in hopes Gladio might comprehend. “The MT cores are made of the same accursed darkness that has blocked out the sun. Understanding one means we’ll understand the other—”

“And how is understanding it going to help Noct? Better question—have you actually found a way for it to be possible to help Noct?!” Gladio loomed large over him, too close, so big. “Or are you just stubbornly holding on to something impossible and wasting time on a useless pet project just to make yourself feel better?!”

“It’s not useless! I’ve learned more in the past months than I was traveling!” He was nose to nose with Gladio now, as Gladio bent down close to him and Ignis surged up to meet him. “The Magitek is analogous to the Crystal, and if we can control one, we can control the other—”

“Like you controlled the Ring?” Gladio hissed, and Ignis fought back a flinch. The scars that remained on his hand and lip stung for a moment, as Gladio’s heavy breath burned the accusation into him. “You’re wasting your time trying to accomplish the impossible while the world is dying around us—”

“What use is saving the world if we forget who we are while we live?!” Ignis snapped back, and Gladio’s hand flew back—

Their argument was broken by a clatter nearby, and both Gladio and Ignis turned to see…

Prompto. In his battered armor. Tottering along and humming the chocobo song with an armful of potatoes.

Ignis held his breath as Gladio looked at Prompto for the first time in five years.


	8. 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio faces Prompto - or what's become of him - and he and Ignis confront some very, very ugly realities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings in this chapter for some body horror.

**8:**

_ “H-hey Iggy.”  _ Prompto bobbed a little closer, legs unsteady, and Ignis’ chest panged. Was he still recovering from his last injury, or had he been wounded again living in the badlands?  _ “Um, sorry… gone for a while.” _ He tottered closer, and Ignis saw Gladio’s body telling a story, his spine going stiff, his shoulders going back. His face was on a journey all its own, shifting from confusion to realization to horror. Prompto held out the potatoes.  _ “You… you can… use these? I thought… you helped me… so I can help you _ — _ ” _

Ignis barely had time to process as Gladio’s face took the last step on its journey into rage, and he drew his sword. “GET AWAY FROM IGNIS!”

Ignis was about to step in, but Gladio put a big hand on his chest and shoved him back. Something changed in Prompto when Ignis hit the ground—his eyes glowed red, his whole form went stiff, and when Gladio drew his sword, he shifted from being an unsteady man into a lithe beast.

Prompto ducked low, easily dodging the first sword swing, and he drew a short knife from a pouch and jabbed at Gladio’s thigh. Gladio managed to twist back from it, and Prompto fluidly swept in to take advantage of Gladio’s open side. Gladio shouted as Prompto managed to slice his tunic open, but turned right around and tried to grab Prompto. Prompto bent backwards, under his grab, spine bending unnaturally, but Gladio slammed down onto his belly to pin him to the ground. Prompto was barely affected by the impact, drawing his gun fluidly even as his chest crumpled.

“Gladio,” Ignis started, regaining his wits after the shock of being shoved back wore off. “Prompto, don’t!”

Prompto’s eyes were bright red now, even as Gladio batted the gun from his hand. Prompto took advantage of Gladio’s shifted weight to roll out from under him and up to his feet, but he kept his center of gravity low, swaying as he moved—like the Imps used to, Ignis realized, like a lurking daemon. 

Ignis put himself between Gladio and Prompto. “Stop this, he’s not a danger unless attacked!”

“There’s a reason I’m putting it down!” 

Gladio shoved past Ignis, but the moment Gladio put a hand on him, Prompto lunged, tackling Gladio and trying to grapple him around the waist, but the impact didn’t faze Gladio for even a second. He dropped his sword and wrapped his arms around Prompto’s chest, just to toss him to the ground. Prompto just rolled right back up to his feet and loped back around, even as Ignis tried to put himself between them again.

“It’s me! He’s angry because you’re attacking me!” 

“And how the hell would you know?!” Gladio scooped up his sword and pivoted, searching for Prompto’s shadows in the darkening night. Red eyes gleamed, and Gladio ducked down right as a volley of shots were fired. He rolled forward, and Ignis rushed towards where Prompto was. Gladio just snarled, “If you’re going to help, draw!”

“Weapons only make things worse!” Ignis tried to take Gladio’s sword, Gladio reached for his arm with his fingers bent, and Prompto leapt from the darkness, clearly meaning to tackle Gladio again. 

Instead, Gladio swung up to catch him in the chin with a fist, knocking his mask off, and as Prompto tumbled to the ground, Gladio went down after him and pinned him down by his chest. 

His elbow drew back like he was pulling a bowstring, ready to snap and go full force on Prompto with his bare hands, but just as Ignis moved in to catch his arm, he froze.

Ignis took hold of Gladio’s arm only to see he was looking down into Prompto’s exposed face, and Prompto had tears streaming down his cheeks from eyes now glowing red.  _ “Iggy,” _ he choked,  _ “Don’t… hurt… Iggy…” _

“Oh, fuck,” Gladio rasped, “it’s Prompto.” His hands fell to the sides, and he dropped his weight, straddled over Prompto’s torso. “Prompto… fuck, I’m…” His breath hitched, and Ignis turned his hold on Gladio’s arm into a touch, gently caressing in a pale effort at comfort.

“It’s him,” he said softly. “I’ve been trying to find our friend under the armor. I know he’s in there. Perhaps you’ll find my pet project excusable now?”

“Yeah.” Gladio sucked in air, shaking his head again. “Yeah.” He sat back and held out a hand. “Prompto, it’s me. It’s Gladio.” 

Prompto didn’t respond. Instead, he lunged from where he sat towards Gladio, hands outstretched to grasp at his neck. Ignis released Gladio, stepping through, and put his hand on Prompto’s chest to push him back down.

“Don’t cry, darling,” he whispered, and rubbed the tears from his eyes. Prompto stared at Ignis, his harsh breathing finally slowing. 

_ “I-iggy. Iggy.”  _ Prompto’s hand uncurled, fingers extending.  _ “Sorry, I’m sorry, s-s-sorry…”  _ The gleaming red light faded from his eyes, and recognition bloomed as he looked at Gladio again.  _ “It is you, it-it is, m’sorry. Missed you, Gladio. Missed you.” _

“It is him,” Gladio whispered, then said aloud, “I missed you too.”

The three members of Noctis’ retinue were finally united after five years apart, changed by the darkness in more ways than words could say, but Ignis knew that nothing truly important had changed. Not at all.

* * *

Gladio and Ignis marched Prompto to Hammerhead, holding him up between them, and the other guards in the settlement stared at his exposed face in horror and disgust. Prompto slumped there, misfit armor clanking around limp limbs, and let himself be brought in. Ignis would let the other Glaives assume what they would about Prompto, let them think him a prisoner or refugee. Ignis and Gladio were each merely grateful to have their friend back. 

Cid stared at Prompto as he was carried in. Ignis shot him a warning look, but Cid put his hands up. 

“Bring the boy in.”

The boy. Acknowledging him as a person, not merely a machine. Ignis squeezed his eyes shut against the swell of gratitude like a dam against his emotions. 

Cid led them into the living space beneath the garage—an old bunker built in the event of shelling raids, Ignis presumed—and led them into a makeshift infirmary, which was really just a curtained-off corner with a cot and a box of medical supplies. 

“Do whatever you gotta do,” he told them, and hustled out, shoulders back and spine hunched, and Gladio and Ignis laid Prompto down on the cot. 

“Do you have water?” Gladio glanced at Ignis, and Ignis summoned a canteen and held it to Prompto’s lips.

“Here,” Ignis said softly, tipping the mouth of the canteen. Prompto didn’t open his mouth to it, his jaw slack behind sealed lips, and he looked between the two of them. Ignis pushed the lip of the bottle against his mouth. “Please, please drink. Surely you need it.”

Prompto finally took a swallow, as Gladio took a bag of what looked like trail mix out of his saddlebag. “Let him eat this. I’m gonna go borrow a toolbox.” 

He shoved the bag into Ignis’ hand and hustled out after Cid. Ignis offered Prompto the open mouth of the bag, but Prompto made no motion to reach in.

“Please eat,” Ignis urged him, too far-gone to be soft anymore. “You need to eat.” 

He tried to think only of getting nourishment into Prompto, something to keep him human, so he wouldn’t think any harder about why Gladio needed that toolbox. All that truly mattered was that Prompto was here, and that Ignis kept him here.

Gladio returned with the toolbox as Ignis coaxed a few nuts and dried cranberries into Prompto’s mouth, and he sat on one of the folding chairs. “I’m sorry,” he rasped, voice thick. “I’m sorry we didn’t come to help you sooner.” 

Prompto shrugged, the armor rattling on his shoulders.  _ “Not… mad…” _ He hung his head.  _ “Understand…” _ His shoulders continued to shake.  _ “Sorry… I attacked you…” _

“I deserved it, you wicked little shit.” Gladio grinned, eyes crinkling but still wet. “You had me on the run though, damn.”

_ “You always… underestimated me…” _ Talking still seemed so hard for him, his voice still warped by a modulator even with the mask off. Ignis wondered what was contorting his speech—there had to be more to it than the mask. 

“Prompto,” Ignis interrupted in the gentlest voice he could muster. “What happened?”

Prompto’s eyes went wide, and he twisted around to face Ignis again. His face twitched into an expression of grief.  _ “Sorry.” _

“You’ve nothing to apologize for.” Ignis sat on the cot beside him and took his hand. “We only want to know what happened.”

_ “Not…” _ Prompto lifted his hands in a pointless, fumbling gesture.  _ “Hard to…” _

“You don’t remember?” Brow knit, Gladio leaned forward. “Can you remember anything?”

Prompto’s chin sunk, and he fidgeted for a moment. His gaze seemed to dart towards the toolbox, and he winced.  _ “The MTs… they took me…” _

“You were alive?” Ignis had to know. Had they actually abandoned their living friend to Niflheim?

Prompto nodded, and Ignis knew he’d never be able to forgive himself. 

_ “They took me… downstairs… don’t know, sorry.”  _ Prompto shook his head.  _ “Another area. Restrained… drugged…”  _ Ignis winced as Prompto began to shiver again.  _ “Then… on a ship... somewhere else… ”  _

It was somewhere other than Zegnautus Keep. Ignis would have to ask Aranea where that might be. Perhaps it was that First Magitek Production Facility she’d mentioned, but he had to know if there were other options.

Ignis would tear them all down if he had to.

_ “Then… the scientist…” _ Prompto keened and grasped at his head.  _ “He… He…” _ This scientist. Could he mean Besithia?  _ “Don’t know.”  _ Prompto turned his hands over, wide red eyes staring into his armor-clad palms.  _ “Like this now…”  _ He bit his lip.  _ “I… I fought… when they took me, fought… when they put me on the table, fought… not strong enough…”  _ He shivered, and black tears began to drop from his eyes and onto his armor.  _ “Sorry… Wanted to come back… sorry…” _

Gladio clapped his hand on Prompto’s shoulder. “You did everything you could. I know you did.” 

Overcome, Ignis merely turned his face so Prompto wouldn’t see the emotions overwhelming him, the ache in his chest at thinking of Prompto twisting and writhing as he was conquered by more hands and arms than he could fight off, as he fought his restraints, as he was changed into  _ this.  _

“Can you tell us anything?” Gladio squeezed his shoulder, but Prompto didn’t feel it, just shaking his head harder.

_ “Can’t. Can’t know. Can’t. I can’t.” _ He shivered even harder, whole body in tremors. Even his boots were shaking against the cot.  _ “I can’t fix it.” _ Prompto tried to peel at the armor strapped to his skin.  _ “I want to. Fix it…” _

“You can’t be expected to.” Ignis moved to put himself in front of him. “Look at me.” He touched Prompto’s pointy chin and tipped it up towards him. “We want to help you. I know it’s frightening, but we want to remove the armor to see what’s beneath. If it causes you harm, we will stop immediately, but let us attempt to remove the armor.”

“Yeah,” Gladio pitched in immediately. “We can at least get it off of you.”

Prompto looked into Ignis’ face, eyes wide with obvious fright, but he nodded.  _ “Take it off. Not me.”  _ He pried at the chestplate at his collarbone. _ “I want to be me.” _

Gladio picked up the toolbox and a package of alcohol swabs. “You’re you. We just want to get you out of that armor.”

Ignis and Gladio were as careful as they could be as they unscrewed each plate from where it was set against Prompto’s body. They cleaned each tool before they used it, and each time they changed from one area to the next. When they loosened the first plate—Prompto’s right chest plate—Prompto gasped out a sigh of relief, but Ignis couldn’t be happy at all. Not when the plate revealed that the plate was screwed into a brace  _ under _ Prompto’s skin, forming a ridge under his collarbone. The skin wept black fluid, and Ignis had to steel himself to keep from retching. 

They pulled away more and more of the plates and armor pieces and found that all of them were bolted into Prompto one way or another, with implants in his thighs, forearms, and shoulders, too. His skin was paper-white and thinner than crinoline, and he was nothing but skin and bone—practically a skeleton covered in crepe-paper drawn tight. His skin was marred with odd scars, neat and well-healed, but not the surgical scars of surgeons attempting to hide their work. These were utilitarian, straight lines and hard gashes—whoever had cut into Prompto didn't care what his body looked like when all was said and done. There were eerie ports, too, open portholes that had been hooked into similar tubes in the armor—what had been circulating through them? When Ignis managed to get one of the glaives off of his hands, he revealed skin gone completely black, from the forearm to the fingertips. His lower legs were blackened too, the skin somehow tighter, harder, almost like stone. 

The left chest plate was the last to come loose, only releasing once everything else was off and Prompto was left a quivering wreck, black tears streaming down his cheeks. He’d bitten his lip to keep from crying every time another plate was pulled loose, but now he was softly sobbing and touching his own legs and ribcage. Ignis couldn’t be certain if he was in pain, afraid, or perhaps, inconceivably, relieved that his armor had been removed despite the horrors beneath. Gladio and Ignis together pried the left chest plate loose, and when it fell away, something gleaming red shone through. 

There, right over Prompto’s heart, a red diode had been implanted into his skin. A Magitek core, glowing red. Ignis could feel the energy radiating off of it—it made his scars from wearing the Ring ache. It reminded him of the blue light of the Crystal, only it burned rather than warmed him.

“It feels like the Crystal,” Gladio said, concurring with what Ignis hadn’t said, “but it’s…”

“It’s fueled by something other than the light of the Gods,” Ignis said, finishing the thought Gladio had left open. Gladio gave a jerky nod. 

“We think this came from Ardyn?”

“From what I can tell, and all the information available.” Ignis rubbed his chin and leaned closer to the core. This one had an unearthly light within, but if he looked close enough, he could still see the dust he’d seen in the core he’d removed from the dead MT. 

“There’s only records of him being around for the last, what, twenty, thirty years?” Gladio crossed his arms tight, still staring at the core and not Prompto’s emaciated chest. “That about matches up with when Lucis started seeing MT soldiers.” 

“Given the dark powers we’ve seen him utilize, it’s possible.” Ignis shifted to sit beside Prompto. “This is the antithesis of the Crystal. Pure darkness that can only be countered by its light.”

Ignis heard a sniffle, then a sob, and turned to see Prompto biting his wiggling lower lip. He flinched, and put an arm around his shoulder. “Prompto, this isn’t—”

_ “I’m evil, huh?”  _ Prompto hitched back a sob, then scratched at his right wrist.  _ “I’m… I’m bad… born wrong… made worse…” _

“No.” Ignis took his hand, the blackened skin laced with his fingers. “The only thing that matters is that you are you. You are not an MT, you are not evil, and self-evidently, this wickedness has not corrupted you. You are still Prompto.” 

Prompto sagged with relief, and Ignis faced Gladio. “Examining him has confirmed some of my suspicions, but I need more information.”

“Alright.” Gladio, arms crossed tight, pensively shifted his weight from foot to foot. “What are you thinking now?”

“I’ve confirmed that Prompto has been imbued with the Magitek core, but he's not the same as the MTs. It may be an experimental procedure, but at the moment, it appears to be much like a prosthetic. The purpose it serves eludes me.” He grimaced and ran his fingers through Prompto’s hair. “I believe I need to speak with someone who may know more about the Magitek from a different experience. Prompto is human, with Magitek implants.” He bowed his head, resigned to his conclusion. “I need to speak with someone in the same boat.”


	9. 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Prompto begins to heal from his ordeal, Ignis takes him to someone who might be able to give a little more information about Magitek body implants.

**9:**

It took Ignis a few weeks to arrange for transportation to Tenebrae, which was enough to aid Prompto in what few ways he could. He bathed him, cleaned the grime from his skin, careful not to disturb the core. He dressed him in a loose Glaive uniform, a tunic that covered his core and the ports. The clothes hung off of his frame, and the pants had a drawstring pulled as tight as it went. He fed him regular meals three times a day, for what meals could be found. He kept Prompto busy, took him on simple hunts and missions, asked Cid to give him tasks in the garage, or brought him to the kitchen when he cooked meals. 

Prompto killed daemons with vicious efficiency. His natural talents with machines helped Cid refurbish guns and weapons. He even picked up washing the dishes like he had at camp. It was almost like Prompto was back. Almost. 

Ignis hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed the casual intimacy of standing at someone’s side, handling small domestic tasks, Prompto setting the table and passing Ignis ingredients. He hadn’t realized how dearly he’d missed those pointless little conversations, trading jokes and barbs with Prompto as Prompto washed dishes and he dried. 

Prompto didn’t talk like he used to. No jokes, no puns, no tiny teases. Only the occasional affirmation, or speaking when directly spoken to. Prompto’s sense of humor, his boundless enthusiasm for everything, his cheerful smile and his infallible ability to make anything pleasant, those were his best features. More and more, Ignis was concerned that those things were gone. 

“Prompto,” Ignis pried one night, “did you enjoy tonight’s hash?”

Prompto didn’t miss a beat and kept scrubbing, black hands plunged to the elbows in the soapy water.  _ “Yes. It was very good. I missed your cooking.” _

Efficient. Simple. Absent Prompto’s babble, the personality usually in it. Ignis shut his eyes in a slow wince.

“Food’s becoming more scarce, so we’re fortunate to still be able to eat. I’m glad for the extra peppers you brought; they truly helped me to  _ hash it out. _ ”

He waited, breath bated, teetering on the tiny little space between them and waiting to see if that had bridged the gap at all. After a moment, Prompto smiled. 

_ “I’m glad I could… spice up the meal _ .” __

It wasn’t a good pun, but by the Gods, he was trying. Prompto was somewhere in there, under everything he’d been through. 

Gladio had left a few days after Prompto had been pulled out of the armor, but he kept contact, calling at least once a week to talk to Prompto and Ignis. He had left with a promise to help Ignis get to somewhere, and to someone, who might have the insight he needed to assist Prompto further. After a few weeks, he came through:

_ “There’s a caravan headed for Tenebrae with supplies leaving from Lestallum in a week. Get yourself and Prompto here and you’ll be on your way.”  _

Ignis thanked Cid profusely for his forbearance, and took the same truck he’d borrowed from Wiz back to Lestallum. Gladio met him in the parking lot, patted Prompto on the back, and handed Wiz’s truck off to a few Glaives off to help deal with the rising numbers of daemons near the outpost. The caravan would carry them over a narrow landbridge to Tenebrae, straight to the capital. He’d sent word ahead that he would be coming and with an indication he was bringing a problem to be solved with him, but left the details vague; some things needed to be seen to be believed. 

Of course, Ignis wanted some things to remain unseen. 

He had prepared Prompto for the trip by dressing him in long sleeves and gloves that would cover the corruption in his extremities, and took a visor from the long-since stripped out convenience store at the Post—left behind when everything else of value had been taken, because who needed sun protection now? Prompto looked out of place, but his gleaming eyes and discolored skin would certainly get too much of the wrong kind of attention. 

Ignis saw Prompto’s face falling as he bundled him up. “I’m not ashamed of you; I just don’t want anyone to hurt you.”

_ “Me neither,” _ Prompto rasped out, but he didn’t seem at all encouraged.

The rest of the trip on the caravan was mostly quiet. Ignis read as they rode; he’d begun studying what was known of the Scourge, the “plasmodia.” Sania had sent him her reports, as well as many others she’d found on her research, and he hoped to learn as much as he could on his own. 

Still, even the finest scientific minds couldn’t figure out everything. They had no answers on Prompto, of course; there had never been a successful study of an MT, either. Ignis still had to learn everything he could, so he read. Studies had documented how the Scourge was spread, how it reacted to different stimuli, what it did to a human body. Ignis read the sections on the people driven mad, their bodies and minds degrading and corrupting until they were finally transformed, over and over. 

Was Prompto on his way there? The corruption in his limbs, and his limited speech, worried Ignis, yet they hadn’t progressed or worsened since Ignis had first documented them. Perhaps, by virtue of that implant, was the plasmodia somehow forming a symbiosis with him? Or was there just not enough of it independently reproducing to corrupt more of his body?

Ignis did make certain to talk to him frequently, just to ensure he was still speaking. When they stopped at night and Prompto changed into bedclothes to sleep, Ignis would peek at his arms and legs. Prompto seemed a little embarrassed at Ignis’ touch, as innocent as it was; Ignis suppressed any affection he might have felt for his dear friend in the name of tending to his needs. If Prompto’s mind was truly degraded…

Ignis couldn’t bear the thought that, even after retrieving Prompto’s body, a fraction of his spirit may have been lost. Even a little was too much. 

They arrived in Tenebrae and were met at the drop-off point by two of the Fleuret house staff, delineated by the silk sylleblossoms pinned to their coats. They held lanterns and a sign bearing Ignis’ name, and Ignis greeted them with a bow:

“Well met, thank you for hosting me. I take it Lord Ravus received my entreaty?”

“Yes, Mister Scientia; he was most intrigued by your question.” Maria, who had helped nurse Ignis immediately after the treachery at Zegnautus, smiled wearily in greeting. “We’ve been asked to bring you to the manor for the evening, and Lord Ravus will meet with you tomorrow.” 

Tenebrae was back under Ravus’ control with the hierarchy of the Empire in disarray. After he’d assisted Ignis and Gladio with their escape, he’d thrown himself into trying to protect his home country, shoring up their defenses, erecting more lights over their cities as the light vanished. Tenebrae and its capital in Fenestala were likely faring the best of all of the world due to his quick and determined intervention, but even Tenebrae struggled. Ignis had no memories of his home country—he’d been too young when he’d been sent to Lucis—but he could sense the seething tension in those few people in the streets, from the guards walking their beats under too-bright street lights, and the distant noises of daemons approaching. 

Fenestala Manor was well-guarded. The damage done in the Imperial attack in Noctis’ childhood had been patched, if not completely restored, and Ravus had outfitted the manor to be a crisis center. The empty rooms once used for balls and hosting foreign dignitaries were given to families in need of places to sleep, eat, and live, a wing was turned into a hospital for the wounded soldiers, and much of the ancient home turned into offices for coordinating the response. However, it was still the home of their never-coronated King, stepping up to fill the void left by the tragic deaths of his mother and sister, so the eyes of every guard were trained on Ignis and Prompto as they crossed into the grand hall. Ignis kept Prompto close every step. Prompto seemed to know, and kept his head low. 

Ignis slept fitfully in a borrowed bed in one of the many guest rooms. Prompto stood by the window for a long time, steadfastly looking out whenever Ignis opened his eyes. After the third or fourth time Ignis’ insomnia struck, he sat up.

“You can lay down with me.” 

Prompto startled, and as he turned, Ignis smoothed the empty stretch of bed beside him. “You can rest here. You don’t have to stand guard over me.”

The silence hung, and after a moment, Prompto shook his head. Ignis could practically hear his now-gone armor creaking with the slow motion.  _ “I don’t need to sleep.” _

“But won’t it feel nice to rest?” Ignis patted the bed again. “Please. I don’t like thinking you’ll just be standing there all night. You can at least recline. Lay your body down for a bit.” His hand flattened on the bed, resisting the urge to beckon him. 

_ Come to me. _

Prompto didn’t respond. Ignis couldn’t see his expression in the low light coming through the curtains. Then, he stiffly walked over to the bed and lowered himself into it, his thin form stretched on the expanse of empty sheets. He folded his hands under his head and shut his eyes. 

_ “Feels nice,” _ he remarked softly, exhaustion bleeding through. 

Ignis, contented, lay back down. “It does.” He curled in on himself. “Close your eyes for a bit. We’ll see each other in the morning.”

Ignis didn’t sleep. Not really. He was far too aware of Prompto’s breathing evening out beside him. 

* * *

When the morning hours came, Ignis and Prompto were escorted to King Ravus’ quarters on the top level of the manor. Prompto stood dutifully at Ignis’ side as they passed through his crowded office, overflowing with correspondence and paperwork, to see the man himself sitting on the balcony overlooking the city, a small meal and coffee on the table and King Ravus himself sitting in slacks and shirtsleeves, absent a jacket, as he read over a stack of reports. Maria cleared her throat to get his attention, and bowed when he lifted his eyes.

“Your Majesty, Ignis Scientia and his guest.”

“Guest,” Ravus repeated, with that familiar tone of someone who’d just tasted lemon juice, and he frowned towards Ignis. “A pleasure to see you, Ignis, though I failed to recall you saying you were bringing another.” 

A pleasure, Ignis thought, though not worthy of eliciting a smile. Some things didn’t change. Ignis bowed and approached, but as Prompto stepped forward at his side, Ravus’ frown deepened into a scowl, deep lines etching into his face.

“His eyes,” Ravus growled, and suddenly, his sword was in his hand and he stood, papers scattering on the tiles. “He’s daemonic!”

“No.” Ignis placed himself between Ravus and Prompto. “No, he’s corrupted, but he’s harmless. He was forced to assimilate Magitek prostheses and augmentations against his will, but his personality has remained functionally intact.” 

_ “L-Luna’s brother, right?” _ Ignis saw Prompto peeking forward. Remarkably brave. He took another stiff step towards Ravus.  _ “You h-had Magitek on you too. Iggy said you could help.” _

“Help,” Ravus repeated, and he took a second look at Prompto. “You. You’re the boy we lost in Zegnautus.” He sheathed his sword and approached, a different sort of frown creasing his face now—not anger, but concern and regret. “You were presumed dead.”

_ “Good as,” _ Prompto mumbled,  _ “But I’m h-here.” _

“For that, I am grateful, and regret you were not recovered sooner.” His eyes traveled Prompto’s face, the eyes partially hidden by his visor, the outlines of ports and wires under his clothing. “You’re hoping I may have some insight on the effects on Magitek augmentation and implants on the human body, I take it.” His focus turned to Ignis now. “I can see why you requested my expertise.”

Ignis sat, and Ravus invited him to partake of his breakfast—toast and ulwaat berry preserves —and Ravus sighed as he watched Prompto clumsily spread the jam. “You seem to function well, considering your condition.”

_ “Better since Iggy found me.” _ Prompto seemed more interested in the toast than in looking at Ravus’ face.

“It seems that human interaction can somewhat keep the negative effects at bay. However, there’s not a permanent cure for some of the side effects.” Ravus pinched his brow. Ignis, however, sat forward, fingers laced.

“So, my assumption was correct.” He looked Ravus dead-on—he was not Ignis’ King, after all, and nobody had ever put a crown on his head. “Your prosthetic was powered by Magitek cores.”

“Just the one,” Ravus corrected. “It was created by Verstael Besithia, the inventor and architect of the Magitek project. He’d apparently experimented with grafting Magitek onto people before, and given my need to have both arms to fight in my preferred style, I was willing to be something of a test subject.” He shifted in his seat, turning his body away and avoiding Ignis’ gaze. “I asked no questions. I was grateful to be whole again. However.” He reached for the button on his sleeve, hesitated, then rolled the cuff up, revealing a plastic prosthesis. Inanimate. No Magitek. “I am more grateful to be human.”

“Lunafreya warned me in life that she sensed something fundamentally wrong with the Magitek prosthesis. Its aura reminded her of the strange disease spreading through people in the outlying regions of the Niflheim Empire and in some parts of Lucis and even Tenebrae.” Ravus tapped his brow. “She noticed it was corrupting my body.”

“It blackened your skin,” Ignis suggested, and Ravus almost unnoticeably flinched, but gave a jerk of a nod. 

“I could feel pain in nerves once deadened by the operation. I could sense it. It was seeping into me. The core in the replacement arm was… its power was corrupting me. I would have rotted from the inside out.” Wincing, Ravus brought his fingers to his forehead. “I have a theory. Lunafreya concurred when I brought it to her attention. The Magitek is powered by a distillation of the Starscourge, purified and amplified. It’s no mere disease, it’s corruption caused by this accursed contamination.” He dragged his fingers down his face. “Unless applied carefully and controlled, like it was with the Magitek soldiers, it will convert the corrupted into daemons.”

“My study of the historical records of the disease and a modern examination of the contaminant, as well as the Magitek cores, would suggest the same.” Ignis sat back, considering. “However, the question is how one converts a man, whole.”

“That is the question. Besithia’s methods were never fully explained, and the Emperor never forced him to do so. All that mattered were the results.”

“Then I’ll need to look into him.” Ignis sighed and folded his hands in his lap. “Do you know where Besithia might be now?”

Prompto was shifting uncomfortably in his chair, but Ravus didn’t notice. “That is the question, indeed. The man himself hasn’t been seen in public since shortly after the fall of Insomnia, since he implanted my replacement. He was at an Imperial council meeting, but that’s all I know. He was likely headed back to his lab in the remote regions of the Niflheim wildlands.” He crossed his arms, looking sideways at Prompto. “Given that the MTs are presently inoperative, present company excluded, there’s no way of knowing what he’s up to. I would imagine that, if he still lives, he’s trying to revive the fruits of his research.” Ravus exhaled slowly, then turned to face the two of them. “I wish that I could offer more insight than that. I regret that this happened to you.” 

“As do we all,” Ignis concurred, and turned to Prompto. He was sitting stark still, fingers stiff on the edge of the table, half-eaten toast forgotten. 

_ “It’s… It’s not like I expected m-much.”  _ Prompto gave a rigid little shrug, like a thin tree shaking in a chill wind.  _ “I’m s-still me.” _

“So you are, but I am concerned.” Ignis noticed Ravus’ gaze traveling towards Prompto’s hands. “That corruption in your skin. It was only ever successfully healed by Lunafreya’s magic. Her presence in my life helped me fight back some of the impulses brought on by the corruption, but her magic was the only thing that cured it. Its spread has gone inert in me, though I fear it could begin again at any time.” He tore his gaze away, frustration in his frown. “This malady is the same one corrupting those in the darkness. However, it’s contained. How long have you been like this? Five years?” His focus slid back towards Prompto. “You wouldn’t still be human at all after this long if not. My prosthesis corrupted me after only six months. There is something about you, or your augmentation, that is containing this darkness.”

Containing the darkness. Ignis felt a spark of something that tasted like hope. Was there some way to contain the Scourge?

“Your insight is appreciated,” Ignis said, dulcet and careful. “However, I believe I may need to look deeper in order to find the answers I seek.” 

“I completely understand.” Ravus gave a shrug, shoulders inching up the back of his chair as he forced himself to relax. “I suppose you’ll be seeking out Besithia yourself?”

“If that’s what I must do, then so be it.” Ignis laced his fingers. “Would you be able to assist me with gaining passage into the Imperial lands?”

“I’ll certainly allow it, but you should be advised that the former empire is dangerous and dark.” His gaze traveled into the darkened distance, before he turned back towards Ignis. “There are a few rare waypoints of light for travelers attempting to go in or out, but they’re few and far between. And, unfortunately, I can’t spare an escort for one man’s personal mission, even if you may gain information more valuable to the cause.” He tented his fingers. “However, I do know of someone who’s been attempting to assemble a team to infiltrate.”

Like a bolt from the blue, Ignis was stricken by how easily he’d forgotten. “Do you mean Commodore Highwind?”

“Yes, though, she insists she prefers to be addressed simply as ‘Aranea’ now, or—” Ravus coughed uncomfortably, “‘Miss Highwind, if you’re nasty.’” 

Ignis withheld a snort. “I’ll contact her post haste. Is she in Tenebrae at the moment?”

“Not to my knowledge, but you may stay here as long as you care to. I’d love to pick your brain on some of Lucis’ survival tactics, as I am entirely certain your country would not have survived this long without you.” Ravus rose to his feet. “I’ll inform the staff you’re allowed full access to the Manor during your stay. Your companion—” His gaze flicked off of Prompto for a scant second, then quickly averted,“—may of course explore the gardens and manor to his liking as well, but while I will have the guards informed of his presence, I cannot promise his safety if he’s found alone. I suggest you keep him with you.”

_ “I _ — _ ” _ Ignis turned as Prompto, who’d listened in silence as Ravus and Ignis had talked over his head, spoke up, mulish and stubborn.  _ “I’d prefer to stay with Ignis. He might need my h-help.” _

Ravus studied Prompto, intelligent eyes roving his narrow face. “Of course. I’m certain your assistance will be appreciated.”

“Indeed, Prompto, I’d be happy to have you helping me review whatever interesting texts may be in the library while we wait for our ride.” Ignis, too, stood, and bowed to Ravus. “Lord Ravus, you have my gratitude.”

“You’re most welcome. I did wish to ask—did you need an additional room? We do have a few empty beds.” He focused on Prompto again, who shook his head.

_ “I d-don’t mind bunking with Iggy. He doesn’t snore.” _

Ignis couldn’t help but fondly recall the many nights they’d all shared hotel rooms, Prompto pleading to share a bed with Ignis because Ignis didn’t snore and didn’t mind if he tossed and turned. Ignis would wake to see him curled up as small as he could in the bed: endearing, really. 

Compared to the tin soldier who’d stood at the window, absent only the rifle at his shoulder, Ignis couldn’t help but miss those days more fervently than ever.

He would restore Prompto, somehow. 


	10. 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aided by Aranea, Prompto and Ignis travel to the First Magitek Production Facility in hopes of uncovering the secrets of the MT soldiers, the truth behind Prompto's corruption, and Verstael Besithia's ultimate plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be aware, this chapter mentions nonconsensual medical procedures and torture.

**10:**

Ignis spent three days digging through the Oracle’s archives looking for more information on the prophecy, poring through every text that looked relevant. The Fleuret family had carried a wealth of old knowledge on from generation to generation, for a hundred generations back, and there was much Ignis hadn’t seen before in the archives of Lestallum or evidenced in the tombs he’d visited. Most of it appeared to simply be versions, re-translations, or different interpretations, but Ignis sought out any new information he could.

By now, he’d come up with a strong understanding of the prophecy—the darkness was connected, inexorably, to the light of the Crystal, and could not be destroyed from without. This explained why Ardyn was so very hard to kill, why no matter how he’d struck at him, the man barely flinched, how he reconstituted even as Ignis slashed at him with his daggers and spear. However, the Chosen King could face the remnant of the Accursed on the other side, within the Crystal’s light and in the After, and destroy him once and for all.

And for that, Noctis had to die. He would have to go into the After in order to eliminate any trace of Ardyn from the world. The Ring’s power would enable him to eradicate him in this world, and then, before he could recover, Noctis would be sacrificed, and the Ring would let him persist long enough to strike Ardyn down on the other side. His corrupted soul would simply be burned out, but Noctis would not be able to return. 

That was the understanding Ignis had formed. “So it was ordained.”

Ignis hoped to keep reading, to understand more, to understand how Ardyn had become the Accursed, but he still had a considerable stack of books to review when his daily reading was interrupted by a member of the Fenestala house staff.

“Master Scientia?” Ignis looked up from his book, and Prompto, on a ladder filtering through the others, twisted around. The attendant tugged her skirt in a quick curtsey. “Madame Highwind has arrived.”

Prompto grinned and scrambled down the ladder, tugging Ignis’ arm.  _ “Let’s g-go!” _

Ignis managed to get an armful of books, but let Prompto lead him to the door.

Prompto had been happy to assist Ignis, bringing him any books he thought might be interesting and leafing through a few himself. However, he seemed just as eager to meet with Aranea.

“Glad to see you in such high spirits,” Ignis told him as the attendant led them down to the gardens. Prompto just grinned—still crooked, even though his face was still too thin and every motion he made, far too stiff. 

_ “Aranea w-was c-c-cool when we met her before.” _

“Indeed, she’s impressive.” Ignis smiled coolly, holding his armful of books close. His days of research had gotten him no closer to finding a solution for the prophecy, but he was relieved that the days of waiting for a chance to come closer to solving Prompto’s mystery were at hand.

Perhaps Noctis’ fate was ordained. Ignis wasn’t prepared to accept that just yet, and he wouldn’t surrender his search, but there was a chance he might have some more immediate way to help Prompto. Prompto wasn’t condemned by fate, only by chance. 

Ignis defied odds. 

Aranea’s airship had landed in a stretch of lawn, and Ignis could see her and her two cohorts—Biggs and Wedge, if he recalled correctly, as well as a girl of about thirteen or fourteen whom he didn’t recognize—standing in a semi-circle near the garden gates. Aranea stilled and turned as Ignis rounded the corner to approach the airship, and strode towards him and Prompto as they approached.

“Don’t move,” she said as she got within ten paces. 

Ignis stopped, but he felt Prompto go rigid behind him. She passed Ignis to examine Prompto, circling around him like a vulture examining carrion, her eyes traveling his whole body. Ignis could almost pinpoint the moments when she spotted the outline of a port or tube on Prompto’s body, the faint widening of her eyes or a slight intake of breath. Finally, she stopped in front of him, staring into his red eyes. Prompto tensed, then slouched, resigned to whatever she intended to do. Ignis readied a dagger, but then Aranea put her hand on Prompto’s head—

And ruffled his hair.

“Welcome back, shortcake.” Prompto smiled as Aranea released him, and stepped back. “Looks like you’ve really been through the wringer, kiddo. You don’t look ready for a mission this tough.”

_ “Been through tougher,” _ Prompto replied, shrugging, and Aranea laughed and mussed his hair again. She was treating him like he was just another person. It was a relief. 

They ascended onto the airship, with Biggs and Wedge only giving him one sideways glance as he approached them. Aranea motioned to the teenager. “This is Sol. She’s a trainee Hunter, and one of my co-pilots. We’ll be dropping her off at home base-”

“Ma,” Sol complained under her breath, and Aranea wagged a finger. 

“No buts, missy, we’re going into the fire here.” At a wave of Aranea’s hand, Biggs, Wedge, and Sol took positions at the controls. “Let’s set out.” She twisted her head back around to Ignis and Prompto, and gestured to a few jump seats on the rear wall. “Get comfy, kids. I’ll holler if I need you.”

“I’m certain you’ll have more need of us when you need someone to extinguish the flames,” Ignis remarked wryly, and folded the jump seats down for Prompto and himself. He took a book from his Armiger, and Prompto sat against the wall, only occasionally fidgeting.

As he read, Ignis hummed a little, and Prompto, eventually, began to hum along.

* * *

Aranea stopped at her current home base—a Hunter outpost built around what looked to be a train station with the scraps of buildings and old crates—sent Sol to her room, and gathered up a few of her men and women as backup. They loaded the ship with weapons and supplies, cold weather clothes, canned foodstuffs and jugs of boiled water, and boarded. Between Ignis and Prompto and Aranea’s crew, they were storming the First Magitek Production Facility with ten. 

Gralea was somehow darker than the rest of the world. In Lucis, there had been faint variations between night and day, a pale light that shone through the black clouds. In Gralea, though the hours trickled from evening to morning as they flew, Ignis opened his eyes to find that the sky was as black as could be. Prompto was shivering at his side—his frame was trembling against Ignis’ shoulder—and Ignis hummed to him again, hoping to distract him, if nothing else. Prompto evinced fear, brows knit, jaw taut, arms rigid. 

_ “I don’t want to go back,” _ he murmured through his teeth. Hiding a grimace, Ignis squeezed his hand.

“I know. But you know we will not leave you there. We will return home together, with answers.” 

A jerky nod was the only answer Ignis got.

They landed outside the massive doors of an enormous blocky facility, a warehouse as big as Noctis’ entire high school. Aranea distributed winter clothes around—the cold was bitter, made only worse by the eternal night with no sun to provide relief. Ignis pulled on a thick woolen peacoat, a wool cap, and a red scarf that would make him visible even in low light, and Prompto yanked on a puffer jacket and a knit cap. They clipped lights to their chests and disembarked into the black night and white snow.

Aranea fanned her people out, giving quick instructions to try to find other ways to infiltrate and mapping the building out. Aranea, Ignis, and Prompto would be entering the front doors, while Biggs and his team would head to the North side of the building and Wedge, the South. Aranea gave the other teams a head start as she checked over her equipment, then capped it off by giving Prompto two pistols and a holster.

“That rifle’s too big for you,” she told him, and Prompto took the pistols, then tossed them with his old flair.

_ “Th-thanks.” _ He slid the holster on over his coat, as Ignis tugged his scarf closer over his face, the wind blustering right through the clothes as if they weren’t wearing anything at all. 

With a good pry of a crowbar, Aranea cranked the door open, and the three of them entered, side by side by side. 

The first thing they found was a swath of motionless MT corpses littering the tiled floors. The moment their flashlights touched the first empty-eyed mask, Prompto inhaled sharply, trembling in place. Aranea pulled a face, then kicked one. It twitched and sparked, then collapsed. 

“Like I said,” she took a big, deliberate step over the MT, “they’re not working. Only MT I’ve seen do more than twitch is Blondie there, and he doesn’t count.” A flash of a smile passed through Prompto’s flashlight as he pivoted towards her, but he turned back to facing forward just as quickly. 

They stepped over the motionless throngs, each fallen armor reaching out for something, fallen in motion as if they’d just given up mid-step. Aranea and Ignis kicked or pushed each door in the hallway to look inside, finding only empty offices strewn with water-rotten paper and dead computers, emptied supply closets, and the occasional employee break room. None of the doors were locked, so neither Aranea nor Ignis looked too closely—after all, if it had any value, it wouldn’t have been so easily accessible. 

Prompto was tense and stiff the entire way down the long hallway, looking at the masked face of each eerie, still armor. Then, one of the MTs gave a twitch as they passed, and Prompto jumped and stumbled into Ignis. Ignis caught him and held him, suppressing his shaking until he could catch his breath. 

“It’s alright,” he said, with all the authority he could muster. “It’s nothing. You’re going to be alright.” 

_ “I remember this.” _ The words spilled out of Prompto, and Ignis held both of his hands tight. Aranea shot them a glare, and jerked her head. The two of them walked, Ignis still holding Prompto’s hands and leading him onwards, but Prompto kept babbling.  _ “They dragged me d-down here. The ones who weren’t trying to run away. All their hands. All their cold f-f-f-f-fingers.” _ Ignis held his arm tight, feeling his body tremble.

“You’re here with me now,” he told him, hoping it would be enough to stave off the memories. Prompto still shook as they walked on.

They reached a locked door, with no visible mechanism—only a strange pad device on the left side of the door. Aranea tapped on the pad, examining it, before shaking her head.

“I’ll have to try to break the door down, or pry it. Stand back—”

_ “Wait.” _ Prompto removed his hands from Ignis’, then rolled the sleeve up his arm to expose his wrist.  _ “Should still work.” _

Ignis frowned, but Prompto put his wrist under the mechanism. A green light shone out of it, highlighting a barcode on Prompto’s wrist, black standing out starkly against his corrupted skin under the green light. Ignis suppressed a gasp as Prompto cringed. 

_ “Still there. B-branded for life.” _

“Prompto.” Ignis took a step towards him. “How—”

_ “Always been there.” _ Prompto yanked his sleeve back down.  _ “Ever since I could remember, maybe even before.” _ He shook his head.  _ “Never told anyone. P-parents said to hide it. I’m… I was... made. Like a mobile phone or can of beans.” _

“Prompto,” Ignis repeated, stunned beyond words as his mind strained to take the leaps and bounds over everything implied in that simple statement. Prompto just motioned to the open door, and hurried through. Ignis pivoted to Aranea.

“Do you know anything about that?”

Aranea, who’d watched, mute, wrenched her face into a frown. “I have a bad feeling I might. Come on, we can talk it out when we’re not in the middle of an infiltration.” She followed Prompto, and Ignis gave chase. 

The locked room contained several large computer consoles and record cases, bookshelves disheveled and overturned with papers spilled on the floor, rolls of microfiche in tangled piles. Prompto, however, had gone right to one of the computer consoles and used the code on his wrist to scan in. The computer blinked to life, and Prompto motioned.

_ “Wh-what are you looking for?” _ His voice sounded even more tremulous under the modulation, and Ignis frowned.

“Evidence of what Besithia’s been up to for the past months, information on the Magitek.” 

Aranea patted another console. “Get me into this one, I can start searching through here for any information that Sania might be able to work with.” 

Prompto went to scan her into that console, and Ignis examined the computer Prompto had accessed. It was an administrator account. Somehow, Prompto had gotten into the mainframe, or perhaps it was the only system Besithia had kept open after all this time. With just a few clicks, Ignis found a large cache of audio and video files—labelled only by date and time. 

“Is it possible he recorded all of his experimentation?”

“Guy’s a madman, but he’s a scientist, in the truest sense,” Aranea remarked without looking up. “Everything he did was in the pursuit of knowledge, since he thought knowing more would give him the results he wanted. I wouldn’t put it past him to do all his due diligence, make sure he recorded every variable, every instance—everything so he could ensure the best outcome.”

“Then we’ve likely got a complete record of everything he’s done, right here.” How horrible and marvelous. Ignis couldn’t help but be morbidly fascinated with one so dedicated to his craft, and yet, such a terrible thing to dedicate himself to. “We’ll want to give all of this to Sania.”

Aranea passed him a flash drive, and Ignis plugged it in and began to make the transfer. However, as he did, he noticed a subfolder labeled simply “05953234” opened on the date Noctis had vanished. The date Prompto had been taken. 

Ignis was something of a scientist himself —it was all in the name,  _ haha, _ but jokes aside, he liked to know things.

Even horrible things.

Ignis opened the folder, and saw a large cache of videos. However, there was one large file labelled “Vital review.” Ignis clicked it, and a video player opened. The first thing he saw was Prompto being pitched into a small, windowless cell, and he heard a yell:

_ “LET ME GO! YOU CAN’T KEEP ME HERE!” _ The Prompto in the video banged on the wall, and Prompto, standing at Ignis’ shoulder, went rigid.  _ “My friends will come for me, you’re gonna be sorry!” _

_ “No,”  _ Prompto mumbled at Ignis’ side.  _ “I _ — _ ” _

“I’m terribly sorry.” Ignis took his hand. Then, he put the video on fast forward.

Prompto hung his head and shivered as Ignis bore witness to everything Prompto had been through. He watched Prompto pace in his cell, MTs marching past. Prompto fighting when he was pulled from the cell, screaming in protest until Ignis had to mute the video. The video cut to an operating room, and Ignis watched as a haggard old man in a labcoat strapped Prompto to a metal table, then cut into his chest. He implanted a tube into Prompto’s heart and veins, pumped  _ something _ in with it, and Prompto— _ still conscious _ —screamed and writhed. Ignis watched the red light come into his eyes, glowing bright in the grainy video feed. Then, Besithia implanted the Magitek core.

“It’s in your blood now, isn’t it,” Ignis mused. “Is that what powers the core?”

_ “It’s _ — _ it’s _ — _ symbiotic. They fuel each other.”  _ Prompto winced.  _ “The thing was _ — _ he said _ — _ I was always meant for it. Made. Here.” _ He stomped his foot against the floor.  _ “Just another clone.” _

“Then it’s true.” Aranea spun on him. “You’re one of them.”

“One of them?” Ignis’ face went somehow colder.

_ “Said he needed to do it on babies. Turned them into MTs.”  _ Prompto gripped at his wrist.  _ “No ego. No thoughts. Needed lots of babies. Just made them out of his own cells. Branded them all to keep track.” _ He shivered.  _ “He wanted to try it on an adult.” _

Ignis turned back to the video feed as Prompto fought and screamed against Besithia’s steady hands as he pushed a port into one of Prompto’s major arteries and threaded a plastic tube into it. He wasn’t certain what was worse—the thousands of unthinking infants created just to be pushed into the armor, or the torment of a vibrant, joyful young man for the same horrible end. 

Ignis kept skipping through the video, through the processes of implanting him with steel bracers bolted into his bones, then the armor, infusing him with more of the Scourge. Prompto fought and struggled every step of the way, against the groaning metal and surgical steel. Then, Prompto was strapped to a chair and forced to listen to some sort of recording on headphones—Prompto shivered and began to whisper to himself, jerking and twitching at the sight. Ignis took hold of his arms and tried to still him, but Prompto began to mutter aloud:

_ “Kill Lucians, kill the enemy, all of them, kill all of them _ — _ ” _

Aranea whipped around and slapped him. Prompto yelped, but she cut him off by seizing the front of his jacket. “Stop it,” she growled, then released him. “You’re not a machine and you know it.” 

_ “Tried to make me,” _ he whispered.  _ “Could hear it in the helmet. Until I broke away.” _

The most horrifying part to Ignis, as he sped through the recordings, was watching Prompto struggle less and less and less, until finally, he marched at the sides of his escorts, he didn’t tug at the restraints on the table or chair he was strapped to. He was put through training courses, and Prompto would run, jump, climb, and shoot on every mark. He had stopped fighting back.

Until near the end of the video.

The last part of the video showed Prompto on surveillance camera, patrolling the facility alone. He stopped in the center of a hallway, then jammed the bayonet on his rifle into the wall. He used the rifle as a step to climb up to a high, narrow window and kick it out. He climbed out, then poked his torso back in and yanked the rifle out of the wall, and then was gone. The last shot was Prompto, in his armor, fleeing across a snowy field into the blackness of the night. Ignis hadn’t let go of Prompto’s arms the entire time, and held him even tighter. Prompto still shook his head. 

_ “Just another one.” _

“But he couldn’t keep you that way,” Ignis said into his ear. “You broke out. You made it. I’m so sorry we didn’t come to your rescue, and so proud you got out—”

_ “It doesn’t matter. Stopped wanting rescue. Didn’t want you to see me.” _ He shook his head, then pulled himself from Ignis’ arms.  _ “I  _ — _ I was going for a reason. Scared.” _

“Scared,” Ignis repeated. 

_ “The new experiment _ — _ he said _ — _ after me, he could keep going.”  _ Prompto turned to the computer and pointed at a set of files.  _ “Immortalis. Stopped after Ardyn left, but _ — _ ” _

“Shit.” Aranea suddenly appeared at his side. “Is he actually working on that? Some of the scientists I talked to said he was abandoning it when most of the MTs went haywire—”

Just then, there was a deep groaning form under the floor. The computers locked all at once, booting them back out to the log-in screen, then shutting down, and Aranea inhaled sharply. 

“He’s here. He must be. And he knows we’re here and he’s locking us out.”

“If he panics, he may try something rash,” Ignis realized aloud. “And we’re in his house. Prompto, take us to him.”

Prompto rushed to a side door, which Aranea rammed with her shoulder and led them all through. There was an elevator, and Prompto scanned his wrist in. Alarms began to go off overhead, and a neutral female voice intoned,  _ “Compromised unit. Initiate retrieval of the compromised unit _ — _ ” _ Prompto ended whatever the announcement was saying by shooting the speaker overhead.

_ “Just you and m-me, doc,” _ he growled, as the elevator lurched downwards. 

The elevator opened into what looked like a control room, empty consoles degraded with rust and dust, empty MREs and microwave meal trays littering the cracking tiles. However, past all of the abandoned computers and consoles was a broad window opening into a white room, and within, there was an old man observing a large, inscrutable piece of machinery. The machine itself was hooked up to a row of tubes full of green liquid and—

“Holy shit, kid, that’s you,” Aranea hissed. Prompto shuddered. 

_ “H-him. It’s him. Just like me.” _

A speaker on the desk crackled, and a snarl came through: “If you’re coming, then come!” Ignis pivoted to the window and saw the old man glowering over his shoulder. “Don’t just bandy about in my entryway and snoop in my servers—if you hunger for my secrets, Lucian cowards, come have a taste!” 

Ignis steeled himself, readied his daggers, and approached the door. This was the moment. An actual confrontation with the man who built the armies sent to slaughter them, who built the monster that crushed Insomnia, who attempted to convert Prompto into another of his mindless drones. Ignis couldn’t imagine what such a man would be like, but he would no longer endeavor to try. Not when he was about to meet him.

Prompto pushed the door open and marched through, only to be greeted by the dying roar of the machine grinding to a halt. Some strange liquid was being pumped through the twisting tubes hooked into the ceiling, leaving the tubes that had once contained clones and sickly green fluid drained and empty. 

The elderly man who stood at the paper-strewn console was wizened and withered, with wrinkled skin. He clicked his tongue as Prompto approached, the thin curtain of hair around the back of his head, and his stained, threadbare labcoat faintly shaking in the stale air. This, Ignis knew, had to be the Doctor. 

“Perhaps the last of my great creations.” He sneered as he turned over his shoulder. “This one will be more grateful than you.” 

_ “F…”  _ Prompto started, then trailed off, struggling. Aranea readied her spear, as the doctor tutted them again. 

“First, the Lucians steal you out from under my nose, then you get a second chance at perfection under my hand and throw it away!” 

_ “F…” _ Ignis could feel Prompto trembling beside him, until Prompto shoved past him, storming towards Besithia.  _ “Fuck you! I was fine the way I was!” _ He got within a foot of Besithia, all but frothing at the mouth.  _ “I was happier never knowing I was made by you!” _

Besithia pivoted to his console and snatched up what looked like a small remote control. “Honestly, there you go, going off-script again.” He pressed a button, and Prompto crackled out a gasp and grabbed at his throat, and Ignis heard the distinctive buzz of electricity. 

The modulation. Besithia had implanted something to control what Prompto said, and it was still warping his words. 

Ignis whipped out a dagger and flung it at Besithia’s hand, knocking the remote control away, and Prompto mustered up the bravery to tackle him to the ground. As Prompto pummelled his captor and tormentor with his thin, corruption-blackened fists, Aranea rushed to his desk and grabbed up all of the scattered pages in a hurry. 

“The Immortalis. It’s real.” She slammed them down, then stood over Prompto and Besithia. “Is that why you were researching the effects of the cores on a living person with an ego?” 

Besithia released a thin, reedy, laugh, sounding like a paper bag being stepped on. “What choice did I have? That fool Izunia abandoned my research, I had to find a way to make it work!” He grabbed Prompto’s gun off of his hip. “I recreated the cores! I developed the new process! And finally—finally—I’m ready.” 

Prompto scrambled to grab his gun, inadvertently shifting his weight and giving Besithia a chance to roll out from under him. Besithia grabbed to the desk and hobbled to his feet, then put the gun to his own head. 

“I can absorb the plasmodia now.” He yanked at his coat and revealed the core implanted in his own chest. “And with that, I’ll take this wretched world for the glory of the Empire!” 

He hit something on his console, and before anyone could make a move towards him, he pulled the trigger. As he collapsed, plasmodia ruptured from his chest and swallowed his body in a black cloud. Ignis went for a magic spell, but before he could pitch the fire grenade, Besithia had disintegrated, and the floor began to rumble beneath them. 

“Too little, too late,” Aranea snarled, then snatched her walkie talkie from inside her coat,“The doc’s on the move!” 

Aranea grabbed as much of the paperwork as she could in a single swipe, and Ignis stowed whatever he could grab in the Armiger, and with that, they ran for the elevator again. Prompto’s face was red with fury as he jabbed the button for the lift, and as the doors swished shut and the elevator began to climb to the top, the walls quaked.

Ignis took Prompto’s hand to ground him, but he still had the presence of mind to ask: “Aranea, what is this Immortalis?” 

“It’s a Magitek body,” she muttered, gaze towards the ceiling. “There were leaks, hinting that he was putting together a new MT armor, bigger than the Diamond Weapon that crushed Insomnia. The difference was, he wanted to control it directly, so instead of filling it with Magitek energy and programming it, he wanted to put himself in the machine.”

_ “Like he made me into a machine,” _ Prompto realized aloud, low and angry.  _ “Except he probably didn’t try to program himself to kill anyone wearing black.”  _

“No, he’ll just be in the driver’s seat, living inside of it.” Aranea’s foot tapped the metal flooring in an urgent tempo. “The armor  _ is _ his new body; if he did what he intended, he’ll just be able to run rampant over the whole planet at his pleasure.” 

The tapping matched the rapid thrum of Ignis’ heart. “A madman like that with unbridled power, in a machine that powerful, could wipe out what remains of humanity in weeks.”

The weapon Aranea had mentioned had crushed sections of Insomnia wholesale. Their whole nation, robust and beautiful but without the protection of the wall, had been nearly destroyed in a single day. Lestallum, Tenebrae, and Altissia had no walls, and were nowhere near as large. Every settlement, every facility they’d cobbled together, every resource they had, all of it could easily be crushed.

The elevator opened into the chilly hallway, as a resounding  _ boom _ echoed through the facility. Ignis put his shoulders back, knowing not what he was about to face but that he would stand tall. 

_ “Aranea!” _ Biggs’ voice crackled through her walkie-talkie.  _ “There’s this _ — _ huge tech! Like a snake! And it’s on the move!” _

“Then so are we!” Aranea waved them towards a door. “Through here, there should be a garage!”

Prompto swiped them into the door, opening into a large hangar bay that reeked of stale oil and gasoline. Aranea zeroed in on a small fleet of snowmobiles, and rushed over to them as Prompto ran towards a side wall. Ignis, too, hurried to it as impacts echoed from outside, and Aranea jimmied a hairpin into the ignition to get the machine running. 

She hit her walkie talkie, saying, “Rendezvous on me, I’m in the hangar on the first floor, we’re going to give chase on smaller vehicles—smaller targets!” 

“It’ll be risky without the protection of an armored ship, but it won’t matter how much armor we have if he can’t hit us,” Ignis said as Prompto rejoined them.

_ “We hit him.”  _ He hefted up a machine gun and mounted it to a rack on the back of the snowmobile.  _ “And we don’t stop ‘til he does.” _

The snowmobile roared to life, and Aranea stepped aside, hurrying to the door controls. “You two get a head start on him, I’ll get the rest of these armed and ready and follow!”

Ignis brooked no argument, hopping into the driver’s seat. Prompto mounted behind him, the two of them back to back as the garage door slid open. Prompto leaned into him.  _ “N-nice to have you in the driver’s seat.” _

Ignis smiled wryly. “She’s not the Regalia.”

_ “And this isn’t my pistol,” _ Prompto chuckled and patted the machine gun.  _ “But I’ll give it a shot.” _

“No time to stall.” Ignis revved the engine as the door opened, assessed the controls with a glance, then squeezed the handles and roared off into the snow. 

Ignis wasn’t certain what he was looking for, but he could feel something moving under him, could feel the ground shifting like a slow earthquake, and heard distant resounding cracks. Prompto’s back and shoulders tensed against Ignis’, and Ignis braced against the snowmobile as they sped out into the field. The sound echoed across the snow, and Ignis couldn’t tell where it was coming from, instead just peeling out and away from the facility, towards Lucis, towards home, because Ignis knew that Besithia would be headed that way. 

Then,  _ it _ rose. 

A snakelike head, a maw whirling with spinning blades, gleaming red cores alight in the darkness of the night, emerged from the snow like Leviathan breaking the waves in Altissia. The body, a metal jointed serpent with cylindrical body segments as long as a car, emerged next— roaring up through the snow and slithering onto it, each segment lit with more eerie red lights. It was bigger than Leviathan, loomed higher than the wall—

“Enormous,” Ignis murmured. He couldn’t fathom how one person could control it, and yet, the Immortalis roared forth and sped across the tundra at surprising speed.

_ “Get me out ahead of him!” _ Prompto pointed at its head, and Ignis glanced back—he wasn’t afraid, determination in his eyes, the red of his irises reflecting the Immortalis’ cores.  _ “I want to break his core.” _

The core. Where all of the darkness that powered him was stored. If that was broken, the monster would run out of fuel like a starved animal, and there would be no way it could sustain Besithia’s soul.

Ignis pushed the engine as hard as he could, flanking the Immortalis at an angle and coming up alongside of it. He could faintly hear more snowmobiles behind them, but he and Prompto were way out ahead, and as Ignis caught a snowdrift and bounced ahead of the Immortalis, he felt confident facing it alone. 

Prompto, stoic and proud, gripped the machine gun, aimed, and fired. Ironic—Besithia had set out to build Prompto into a soldier, but if he truly had made a superior soldier of Prompto, it was only to turn Prompto’s gun onto himself. 

_ “Fall to your knees before me!”  _ Besithia’s voice boomed outwards, and Prompto scoffed.

_ “I don’t take orders from you anymore!” _ He began to fire. 

Ignis had to drive with one eye over his shoulder, shifting to dodge the lasers on the Immortalis’ body. Prompto tried to shoot away each whirring drill as they started gathering energy to fire, disabling each one in turn. As the Immortalis tried to turn and evade them, Ignis took the opportunity to pitch a fire grenade into its maw. There was a grinding crack, and Prompto nudged his elbow into Ignis’ ribs.

_ “Light ‘im up, Iggy!” _ He was beaming, bright enough to illuminate the black of the night. Ignis laughed, a spark of that same thrill they’d felt fighting daemons and monsters when they’d first left the city lighting up in him. 

They were two steps ahead of their enemy in this ronde, and Ignis had missed having his regular dance partners. The ebb and flow of battle with someone he trusted beside him, knowing exactly where they were, where they would step next, his place beside him, when to move, when to breathe—it was a familiar comfort. Prompto’s back was against his, and when all this was over, he would walk away with this with one of his three dearest friends at his side, more free than he had been in his entire life. 

More and more snowmobiles joined theirs as the Immortalis lurched, Aranea and her men firing on the beastly machine. Ignis could no longer make out Besithia’s screeched invective, only the last dregs of his army and enemies uniting to destroy his monster piecemeal.

Ignis knew, however, that Prompto struck the last blow. There was a resounding crack, like Shiva herself was shattering again, and the Immortalis reared up as its final core shattered and split. 

Ignis sensed it falling behind him, and sped out ahead. The rest of their retinue followed, zipping away as the Immortalis’ body began to fall apart. Ignis looked back just in time to see the Immortalis fall to the ground in pieces, exploding on impact. Verstael Besithia’s last mournful howl echoed into the night as his greatest creation fell apart, and his failure turned and threw his arms around Ignis’ shoulders.

_ “He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s gone! We did it!” _

“We did.” Ignis leaned back as Prompto clung to him. 

The war was not over—none of this was over—but Ignis had a feeling that for Prompto, knowing Besithia no longer loomed over him would be a huge step in retrieving his humanity, if not protecting all of humanity from Besithia’s wicked vision. 

* * *

Ignis, Prompto, Aranea, and the rest of Aranea’s crew met up again at the facility. Her men told them what Ignis had already suspected—the facility had been empty, abandoned for what looked like years. Nobody else but Besithia had been there for some time, evidently. While they’d found some abandoned computers and stripped out the hard drives in hopes they could crack them back at their base, they hadn’t found anything salient. It seemed their best results had come from the main console Prompto had accessed.

“Let’s see if we can get anything else from that,” Aranea concluded, and led the whole crew back into the facility and the main computer console. After Prompto unlocked the computers so Biggs and Wedge could search for more information, Ignis, Aranea, and Prompto descended back into Besithia’s personal laboratory. Ignis and Aranea sorted through the things they hadn’t been able to take before, but Prompto was driven to distraction, staring into the emptied tubes that had once held men who looked too much like him. 

Ignis couldn’t fathom what was going through his mind. However, he could imagine, and as he tucked another sheaf of Besithia’s frenetic scribblings into the Armiger, he approached Prompto.

“They’re not you,” he told him gently. “You’re not a monster like the man who made you, and you are more than just a copy of him. You grew into your own man.”

_ “I… I know.” _ Prompto turned about and faced Ignis.  _ “I’m glad I met you, and Noct, and Gladio. I know I was just another nobody.” _ His gaze dropped.  _ “But you cared about me anyway.” _

“Of course.” Ignis rested a hand on Prompto’s shoulder. Truly, the thing he regretted most was not caring more. “You’re dear to me.”

Prompto’s eyes squeezed shut, he held his breath, then sighed and turned away.  _ “Hey… be honest. You don’t… you don’t think you’ll be able to fix me, do you?” _

“Prompto, I assure you, if there is anything that can be done to restore you, it will be done.” Ignis turned Prompto back towards him with a touch to his forearm. “However, what’s most important is that you came back to us at all.”

It was the one victory Ignis could truly claim. That Prompto had come back. That of all the things that had been lost in the darkness, he’d reclaimed Prompto.

“Hey,” Aranea whistled and snapped her fingers, “could use another set of eyes on this.” 

Ignis and Prompto traded glances, and the two of them both went to where she stood at the desk, where Aranea had found a set of schematics. It seemed to be conversions of weight to units of energy Ignis couldn’t identify, with the device in the center of the room as a catalyst, using the core as a prism. Ignis scanned it over, frowning as he tried to absorb the information.

“It seems like it’s calculations for converting solid matter into energy.”

_ “I think it’s how he calculated how much plasmodia he needed to create cores of different sizes.” _ Prompto furrowed his brow.  _ “Ardyn could do it just by grabbing a daemon, or that’s what it sounded like from what Besithia said, but he could sort of do it synthetically by using a premade core.” _

“So he determined just how many plasmodia-infected things he’d need to condense to get the cores like this,” Aranea muttered.  __

_ “He could extract anything and seal it in there.” _ Shifting his weight, Prompto looked away.  _ “When things weren’t going well, he’d threaten to put me in a core if I didn’t cooperate. Dunno if it’d’ve worked, since if whatever he used it on wasn’t fully plasmodia it’d leave… stuff… behind.”  _

Something about that struck Ignis, and he leaned in to examine the schematics again. “It could extract the plasmodia out of things. Is that what it does?”

_ “Yeah. So, the daemonified…” _ Prompto motioned to the empty tubes.  _ “They get converted into cores.” _

“But it pulls the plasmodia out,” Ignis repeated, inspiration blooming like sunrise over the Disc, brilliant colors in each new possibility. “We could use this. If we can use this, on a large scale—”

Aranea seemed to pick up on the idea, and punched Ignis in the shoulder. “This could solve a lot of our problems!”

Ignis rolled up the schematics and turned back to Besithia’s terrible machine. “It may not solve our problems, but it could very well delay the inevitable.” 

Out of the horrors, Ignis had found hope.


	11. 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Verstael Besithia's mad science is turned on its head to help the people of Lucis - and, for Ignis' part, to help two important people in particular.

**11:**

It was an ordeal to get Besithia’s monstrous machines out of the deep basement and into the airship, one which Ignis would not like to relive, but it was done. He also did not envy having to call Ravus to explain precisely what they were going to bring back to Fenestala Manor, and left that to Aranea as he and Prompto slept off the excitement in the airship’s jump seats.

The real work began when they arrived back in Tenebrae. Ignis had Ravus put out a call for scientists, engineers, and technicians to help dissect and interpret Besithia’s schematics into plasmodia extraction devices. 

When they arrived, the halls were already bustling with new life as Ravus made to assemble a science corps to rival what Besithia had been working with. Ravus gave Ignis space in the catacombs for the team to work and granted Aranea permission to bring in resources and materials as she disassembled the rest of the First Magitek Production Facility for scrap. Clearly, Ravus was as intrigued by the possibility of this technology as Ignis, and wanted Ignis’ plan to have the best chance to succeed.

Ignis’ plan was simple, and he disseminated it to Gladio the moment he was able to connect with him by phone.

“Besithia was extracting the plasmodia into these inert cores, storing it as dark matter energy. The cores themselves are harmless—until you incorporate them into a human, but that’s neither here nor there. However, when you extract the plasmodia from a daemon, all you’re left with is dust.” Ignis was already studying the prototypes for portable versions of the extraction devices with his phone on the desk beside him. “If we can make more of these, we can arm our soldiers with ways to destroy daemons quickly, as well as extract infections of the Scourge.”

_ “That’s brilliant. I need them yesterday.” _ It was the happiest Gladio had sounded in years.

Ignis smiled wryly, picking up an extraction device shaped conveniently like a gun. “We’ll test them first, but as soon as we’re certain they’re safe to use and effective for their intended purposes, we’ll begin production.” 

Ignis already had his first test subject in mind, once he’d confirmed that the extraction device worked at all. He first took it to the edges of the light and tested it on the daemons that dared dance close to the edges of civilization. When he pulled the trigger, the Tarantula he struck began to disintegrate into purplish light in a way he’d only seen happen when he’d worn the Ring. 

He’d had to strike at the monster a few times with his daggers to fight it back and stun it, but in mere minutes, he’d broken the monster down to nothing but dust. The core in his extraction device glowed with a sinister light, but Ignis could practically feel the daemon’s power contained within it. 

Proof of concept. 

He and Prompto went out hunting daemons around the borders of the city surrounding Fenestala manor, Ignis testing the different extraction devices with Prompto as backup. For all the harm Besithia had done, Prompto’s skill as a daemon hunter had only improved, perhaps even more so. 

Prompto’s support was more welcome, but the most welcome thing was that he cheered Ignis on as the daemons faded and crumbled to nothing. Swallowed by light, to Prompto’s whoops of joy.

_ “That’s Ignis, all business!” _

Ignis was intensely satisfied. However, what he truly wanted to push was the beneficial effects of the device. It was time for his first true test of the device’s intended purpose.

Ravus examined Ignis’ preferred prototype over tea and biscuits. “I’ve seen your team working away, and I admit to being curious about your progress.” He held the prototype in his hand, turning it over. “You and—Prompto, was it?—have been using this to help eradicate the daemons, I’ve heard.”

“We’ve been testing its function on the daemons for now, to determine if the devices function as intended, or at least the base function. However, I want to do more than merely reduce the numbers of daemons.” He laced his fingers on the table, hoping to hide that he was too nervous to eat. “Rather, I wish to maintain the population of humans.”

“Indeed?” Ravus lowered the extraction pistol, raising an eyebrow as he looked back to Ignis. “And how do you intend to do that?”

“By preventing and containing the spread of the Scourge among humans.” Ignis held a hand out, and Ravus put the pistol in his palm. “It works by drawing out the Scourge within a being. As daemons are entirely composed of the Scourge, it reduces them to nothing. However, I want to draw the Scourge from living people before the disease can overtake their minds and bodies.” Ignis readied the pistol, pointing it at the ceiling. “With your permission, Lord Ravus, I would test it on the Scourge infecting the edges of your scar tissue where your previous prosthesis contaminated you. As your infection is relatively contained and small, I would wager that the process would be less risky to test on you should there be any possible side effects.” 

Ignis had expected one of two reactions: either Ravus would scoff and sniff and insult Ignis for trying to make him a guinea pig or test subject like a common animal, or he’d cooperate. To Ignis’ satisfaction, Ravus rolled his sleeve up his prosthetic, choosing the latter as he turned his right side towards Ignis and exposed the purplish bruising at the socket of his shoulder.

“Do you suspect there will be side effects?”

“I fear there may be some pain at the site of the infection. Possibly a burning sensation, based on how the device affects the daemons I’ve used it on.” Ignis still didn’t point the device at Ravus. “However, they’ve been unable to truly tell me how they feel when it’s used on them. If you are concerned or unwilling, to take that risk to yourself, as you are the leader of your people I would understand—”

“No. It’s as you said. I’m cogent, and my infection is relatively small and otherwise contained. Many who are infected are not nearly so lucky.” Ravus held his sleeve back, expression resolute. “I am Tenebrae’s King, and one of the last Kings in this world, and yet, from a certain lens, its ruination was my own fault. If there is pain, I will consider it retribution for the harm I’ve done, and even then not enough punishment for the horrors I saw wrought upon this world.”

Ignis hesitated, touched at Ravus’ nobility. Perhaps the years of darkness had sobered him, with Lunafreya’s death a bucket of ice water on the intoxication of his old grudge and the horrors of their times a reminder of what his anger could do. 

“Very well then. I’m going to count down from five, then pull the trigger.” 

Ravus held his breath as Ignis counted down. When the light touched Ravus’ arm, the scar glowing purple and bright blue, Ravus visibly tensed. However, Ignis could see the purple swelling around the scars fading away, burning off of Ravus’ skin. Ignis released the trigger, and touched the tender scar tissue where the Scourge had once raged under the skin. Ravus hissed, and Ignis withdrew.

“Does it hurt?”

“Mildly,” Ravus ground out. “But the flesh there is sensitive. The process itself—it burns, but it doesn’t especially  _ hurt. _ ” He craned his neck around to Ignis, his left hand reaching to cradle the wounded shoulder. “It’s a cleansing flame, if anything. And now that it’s done, it’s a relief.” He adjusted his sleeve. “I’ll observe for any recursions of it for the next few days, but I’d like to put out a call to families who have Scourge infected members who may be willing to let your team test the device on them. You will likely have many willing participants given that the Scourge otherwise has a guaranteed fatality rate.”

“Indeed.” Ignis looked down at his gun. Such a miraculous thing, delivered from the depths of the darkness. “With your permission, then, I wish to grant it the name Oracle Simulacrum. Given that its light bears back the darkness, much as your dear sister and those of your bloodline did in life.”

Ravus inhaled sharply, turning to meet Ignis’ gaze. “I… I suppose it’s a means to honor Lunafreya’s memory. Would that the burden of her powers could truly have been shared and spread so easily.” 

“As she is no longer with us, I imagine she would want us to continue her work to protect the people of the world.” Ignis put his pistol away, looking down at the floor again. 

“It’s something,” Ravus concurred, and settled back in his seat. “Is there more you intend to do with it? Surely you don’t think those small devices can absorb the breadth of the corruption plaguing our star.”

“No, I fear that would be an impossibility.” Ignis pinched his brow, then took up his tea cup. Ravus had been kind enough to give him tea from their dwindling supplies, he may as well drink it before it went cold. “The plasmodium is in the air, infecting the very clouds and sky. We would need to take these machines into the atmosphere, on a large scale, and we lack the resources to accomplish that in any sort of timely manner.” He took a long draught from the tea cup, then sighed and met Ravus’ gaze. “For now, however, we can use this to beat back the daemons and to halt the further infection of the innocent. I intend to continue research on the effectiveness of the devices.” He smiled to himself. “If I can develop this further, then I’ll use this against the source of the plasmodia itself.” 

Ravus sat upright. “Izunia.” 

“It won’t be able to kill him, no matter how I try. I believe only Noctis can truly end his life, and from all I can find, only at the cost of his own.” Ignis’ fingers drummed the table. “All the research I’ve done, the texts of the Cosmogony, and diaries from some of the earliest Oracles in your archives, it’s given me an idea of just who and what he is. A healer corrupted by that same Scourge, made a vessel to contain it. When he was summoned by the Gods to receive the blessing of the Crystal, he was found to be too impure. However, part of his spirit was taken by the Crystal. It seems he’d been the first Chosen King, made unsuitable by his corruption.” Ignis pinched his brow. “Only Noctis, who, as you saw, is unharmed by the Crystal, can do anything about that.”

“So what will your devices accomplish?”

Ignis pursed his lips, barely daring to sound hopeful. “To pull the darkness from the Accursed. If nothing else, it will end this nightmare, at least temporarily.”

Ravus gazed at him, unreadable, then poured to refill Ignis’ cup. “I’ll toast to your anticipated success.” 

Ignis lifted his cup, and Ravus met it with his own. “You have my gratitude for the vote of confidence.”

That earned Ignis a rare smile from Ravus—bitter, yet sincere. “I’ll give you that, and anything else I have to offer, if you can provide me at least a spot of hope.”

Ignis hoped to give the world much more than that. However, the most important part of his endeavors was focused on something much smaller, and yet all that much more dear to his heart. 

Ignis wanted to extract the darkness running through Prompto’s veins, contained in the core in his chest, if it meant Prompto would feel more human.

Ignis was able to bring Sania over from Lucis both to help test the devices and study their functionality, but he also asked her to examine Prompto in the context of her studies of the Starscourge. He had Sania meet with a physician who’d worked for Ravus in the past, and the two of them examined Prompto from head to toe in a way Ignis, with only emergency medical training, couldn’t. They divulged the results to both Prompto and Ignis.

Prompto still mostly functioned like a human. His heart still beat—it sped up when Prompto was active, and slowed when he was at rest. He still breathed. He did still need to eat, and he would do well to sleep. However, the core and the plasmodia circulating through Prompto’s veins like blood acted as a backup system of sorts, an emergency battery, that would fuel him and sustain him when he hadn’t eaten or slept. 

“We can’t be certain of what will happen if it’s removed, especially considering his current condition.” The physician warily eyed Prompto’s narrow arms and bone-thin face. “What I’d want to see is how he functions if treated like a human and allowed to fully recover, as much as possible, from his ordeal.”

“So,” Sania concluded, “feed him up and let him rest, and the doc here wants to call a surgeon to take out some of those creepy implants. Then, the doc will want to study Prompto’s digestive and endocrine systems, all the stuff that keeps a person functioning, and see how those go. For now, work on improving his body condition.”

Ignis was relieved. If all it took to bring Prompto back was to feed him, Ignis would leave bowls of cream at his door like he would for any innocent stray.

Prompto was less encouraged, grimacing as he watched Ignis cooking up some of Prompto’s favorite meat pies in the manor’s kitchen.  _ “D-do you really think it’ll work?” _

“I believe everything with your condition is theoretical at this point. However, I believe that restoring your body condition is a very good place to start.” Ignis laid the last of the little hand pies on the tray and faced Prompto. “The core may be the only thing keeping you alive right now.”

_ “It does more than that. I can feel it sometimes, you know? It… it makes me…”  _ Prompto gripped at his hair.  _ “I can feel the things it wants me to do. I just _ — _ I can ignore them, because I won’t want to.” _ Ignis’ brow furrowed, and he urgently searched his mind for the right words as Prompto shook his head.  _ “I don’t know…” _

“But I do.” Ignis dusted the flour from his hands, then took hold of Prompto’s arms. He turned his wrist over, picturing the harsh lines of the barcode imprinted there, then kissed the heel of his hand, then the wrist itself. “Even if you aren’t the same as any other human, you are still very much human—still Prompto. You still smile and make little jokes, when you can. You still look like the same young man I met all those years ago, albeit too thin and nervous for my liking. Do you know what truly made me believe it was you in the armor?” Prompto shook “no” again, and Ignis smiled and squeezed his fingers. “The first night I found you, you were singing the chocobo song as you looked across the paddock at the birds in the barn.”

Prompto’s eyes widened.  _ “I… I remember that.” _

“You see? Even when you were furthest from how I remembered you, you were and are still you. As if you were never gone.” Ignis smiled earnestly at him. “You’re not what anyone else made you to be, and that’s that. If it takes more to prove it to you, then I’ll keep feeding you, talking to you, and caring for you, and I’ll pull the darkness from you bit by bit until you can see yourself for what you are, because you are the same you you’ve always been, no matter where you came from or what you’ve been through to get here.” 

Prompto bowed his head towards Ignis’.  _ “Iggy…” _

Ignis kissed Prompto’s forehead, affection bubbling out of him. “You’re here now. All that’s left is to convince you that you were never truly gone.”

Prompto shivered as the two of them shifted naturally into embrace, slotting together, Prompto’s frame shuddering against Ignis’ chest.  _ “I always wanted to come back to you.” _

“And so you shall.”


	12. 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years pass, Prompto is gradually healed... until Noctis returns, and Ignis puts his plan into action.

**12:**

_ “I found out what happened to the cat,” Prompto whispered to Noctis over their arithmetic books.  _

_ “Seriously? How?” Noctis leaned over as Ignis glanced towards the two of them at the table, pretending not to notice them skiving.  _

_ Prompto’s eyes hit Ignis for a second, and he dropped his voice a little lower. “A girl in my photography elective was telling her friend about a kitten that got dropped off at the shelter. I asked her if she had pictures, and she showed me. It was him. Someone found him here, and apparently the cat was friendly, just walked right up to the person, and the person took him in.” Noctis grinned brightly, and Ignis felt the other boys’ joy as if it was his own. Prompto bounced in his seat, so elated he couldn’t contain it, like fizz effervescing out of a bottle of pop. “He had worms and stuff, but the vet at the shelter was treating him and fixing him, so he can be adopted and go home! How cool is that?” _

_ “I’m really glad.” Slumping, Noctis shook his head, still smiling. “I’m glad they picked him up.” _

_ “Yeah, she said someone must’ve been feeding him, or he wouldn’t’ve been so friendly.” With a wheezy laugh, Prompto sat back. “I didn’t tell her it was us, she would have found it super weird. I wonder who picked him up?” _

_ “I’m just glad someone took care of things.” Noctis didn’t notice Ignis smiling into the pot he was stirring. “I know there are a lot of other cats that need help out there, and we can’t do everything, but I’m glad we were able to do something to help that one.” _

_ “Every little thing we do to help another is a positive, no matter how small,” Ignis remarked, and both boys jumped back to attention, as if they’d been focusing the entire time. He chuckled and went to join them. “Even if you two didn’t have a long-term solution, your actions enabled others to do what was needed to truly take action in that scenario.” He clapped a hand on Prompto’s shoulder. “Empathy like that is to be commended.” _

_ He and Prompto met eyes, and Prompto smiled at him. Such gratitude, satisfaction in having done the right thing, was all the reward Ignis needed.  _

_ In some small way, the world was better for their actions, and Ignis knew destiny turned on such small things… _

First, the Oracle Simulacrum was able to clear a daemon-infested temple near the borders of Fenestala. Daemons were reduced to dust in minutes, and casualties were kept at a minimum. Ignis watched Prompto and Aranea leading the expedition team back, with only a few men limping and bandaged. Prompto was leaning on Aranea’s shoulder with one leg in a splint, but Ignis could see him laughing from his window. Then, he returned to his conference call with the Lucian council.

“When I return to Lucis, it will be well-armed.”

The use of the new weapons and tools developed from Besithia’s tech made it easier to guard resource points, to build new greenhouses, to guard perimeters and light sources. Gladio still preferred his broadswords to the Simulacrum’s light, but even he couldn’t argue with the results. 

“It’s not my style, but all the new Glaives we’re recruiting take to those magic lasers like ducks to water, and it’s working. We’re keeping more people alive,” he confided to Ignis three months after he and Prompto returned to Lestallum. “Holly says the population drop is leveling off, at least.” 

The Simulacrum enabled them to stop the daemons that were multiplying in the caves and tombs beneath Lucis from burgeoning forth and overrunning the land. Huge monsters that Ignis couldn’t have fathomed fighting—certainly not alone, and a challenge even if he’d had those he trusted most to have his back with him—were breaking loose of the old magic seals that once bound them, but Ignis and Gladio were confident leading expedition forces to stop them from causing greater damage. Dave Auburnbrie’s mother saw the trophies the others brought back from the hunts, and began to direct them towards the vaults where the worst beasts were locked away to ensure they didn’t have a chance to break loose. 

It was an unparalleled, unmitigated victory. Ignis didn’t take credit, satisfied enough with the results. Besides, Ignis was more interested in what others had found.

He’d provided copies of Besithia’s research notes and files to Sania, who provided it to her cohorts and contacts in the biological, chemical, and mechanical science communities, and they all began to dissect it piecemeal, each one getting the parts of his research most suited to their specialties. Ignis would never say that he didn’t think a single one of them matched Besithia’s genius, but Sania might come close with another twenty years of diligent study. More importantly, the expertise of she and everyone she knew combined would surpass Besithia now.

With each expert working and searching through the MT notes to make sense of it all, they gained a more complete understanding of the development of the MTs, and more importantly, what, precisely, had been done to Prompto. 

Some of Lestallum’s leadership was interested in recreating the MTs for use as soldiers against the daemons and guards, albeit benign and without the tremendous crime against humanity involved in its creation; however, the cost of the materials was prohibitive, and the Simulacrum couldn’t substitute for the MT cores Besithia had created with the potential for human sentience. Others on their makeshift council were more interested in finding ways to use the technology to enhance their safeguards, or apply it to make the dark world they lived in remotely safer somehow. Ignis was welcome to share the information around rather than hoarding his secrets like a horrid dragon under the snow, but most important to him was using what they knew now to heal Prompto’s injuries and undo the inhumane things that had been done to him.

When properly fed and treated like a human—allowed to sleep, bathe, and rest—Prompto no longer needed the core to live. His organs had been working minimally, atrophied as the Scourge forced his body to work, but over months of care, they began to regain function.

Treating Prompto with the Simulacrum removed the remaining plasmodia from him bit by bit—too much at a time seemed to cause Prompto discomfort, to the point of causing him to pass out once before Ignis and the others who’d first tested the devices determined that removing the plasmodia was like draining blood. Prompto was pale and weak for hours after a treatment, but it was worth it to both of them when Prompto opened his eyes one morning to find they’d returned to their natural cornflower blue. He no longer flinched when he looked in a mirror.

Some of the implants were superficial, but when Ignis asked, Prompto did admit that the metal pulled at his flesh, and it was uncomfortable when it contracted and expanded. 

The worst implant was the modulator in his throat—Besithia had embedded it just under his voicebox. With lots of coaxing, Ignis was able to get Prompto to explain in a pidgin of scrawled notes and stammered words, that Besithia would electroshock him whenever he said anything other than certain “permitted phrases.” “Yes, sir.” “No, sir.” Functional phrases. It had been automated at first, but Prompto spoke out of turn so often that it had broken, and Besithia had needed to use the controller. 

Now, the modulator only shocked him intermittently.

The surgeries to remove the implants had to be done slowly, to allow his body to recover from each incision, to scar properly and heal. The doctor who studied the original body modifications made the incisions carefully, so they would work with the muscles instead of pulling like the old scar tissue did. Prompto recovered from each surgery with care, Ignis often tending to him himself. Each bit of plating removed helped Prompto move a little less stiffly, helped make him more flexible. Gladio would take him to the training yard in Meldacio to help him exercise after the recovery period, building him up bigger and stronger. 

Each tiny step forward made things better. 

Ignis couldn’t take away everything that had happened to Prompto—some of the implants couldn’t be safely removed, and the memories couldn’t go away—but Ignis could heal what was able to be healed and help make the trauma that remained manageable. He had the rest of their lives to make them more livable. 

Besides all that, Prompto seemed to have learned from his experiences. He had become a vicious, efficient fighter, the same merciless warrior who’d gone back to back with Ignis that first night after he’d found him six years ago. The only difference now was that he moved more easily, more loosely; he had begun to laugh and joke as they tore through the monsters they were bearing off. 

Ignis, too, had learned, and the world would be better for it. 

Ignis had crossed the world twice and nearly lost all for his efforts, but with everything he’d found and discovered, he had managed to preserve the world.

He also had a theory as to how he could preserve more than that.

* * *

Ten years had passed since Noctis had been taken into the Crystal, and five since Ignis had retrieved Prompto from the darkness. The twilight land was at peace under the eerie glow of Ignis’ Simulacrum crystals, daemons borne back into their darkness by Glaives armed with true Magitek pistols. Daemons still rose to menace the land, but the danger was mitigated now. It was life at war, but there was a stalemate of sorts.

Then, Ignis’ afternoon review of the rationing program was interrupted by an urgent phone call from Talcott.

_ “Mr. Ignis! He’s back!” _

Noctis had returned as suddenly and mysteriously as he had been stolen away.

A flurry of communication sent the world into disarray, as Ignis hurried to meet with his erstwhile companions at the Hammerhead base. He got more than a few eager, all-caps texts, but though he couldn’t keep the smile off of his own face, he couldn’t compose himself enough to respond. Nerves, excitement, and worry warred in his trembling fingers, and all he could do was take each step one at a time.

Ignis arrived to find Gladio already waiting by one of the gas pumps, and he greeted Ignis with a wave. “Glad you made it. Pedal to the metal the whole way down from Lestallum?”

“There can be no delays when it comes to properly greeting my King.” Ignis smiled wryly and put his fist across his breast. “However, I can’t be the only one.”

“He’s here, yeah. He was just checking in with Cid and Cind—”

Gladio’s report was interrupted by the rumble of tires and a metallic creak, and both Ignis and Gladio turned to see the gates swinging wide to allow Talcott’s truck to roar in. Ignis turned and stood at attention as Gladio tensed beside him. The truck stopped, engine grumbling to a standstill like an exhaling bull, and then, the door opened.

The moment had come. They had survived ten years in the darkness, and their King had returned.

Noctis, aged, bedraggled, already looking world-weary despite having been sent away from the world that had needed him, stepped out of the truck, and approached them, wistful and nostalgic, hands already outstretched.

How many times had he reached for Ignis over the years? 

“I’m so glad to see you,” he rasped, voice thick with emotion, and Gladio and Ignis each approached to clasp at his hands, to sweep him into a crushing side hug and muss his hair, to take his hand and squeeze it. Ignis held Noctis’ eyes, reminded all at once of just why he would have died for this man, the warmth and affection for someone closer than a brother, as dear as a friend could be. 

“Goddamn, Noct, it’s almost unreal looking at you…” Gladio released him, sending him stumbling into Ignis. Ignis caught Noctis, one hand still in his, the other bracing his shoulder.

“We’ve missed you, Majesty. It’s wonderful to see you again.” 

“Yeah, same, seriously.” Noctis laughed, turning his gaze between them. “I’m glad to see the two of you in such good shape. But… where’s…” He trailed off, eyes going a little wide. Ignis cleared his throat.

“Prompto is—”

“Right here, Noct.” 

Ignis and Noctis both turned to see Prompto loping towards them from the garage, wiping grease from his hands and with gun oil on his Hammerhead jumpsuit. Ignis could trace the path of Noctis’ gaze as they surveyed the new scars on Prompto’s neck and forearms, etched under the leather wristband fastened tight over his right wrist, the old hollows under his eyes and in his cheeks that had never quite filled out again, his cropped hair, and his smile. 

“Hey, man!” Prompto laughed and hurried over to him, a hand extended, and the two of them slapped palms, and Prompto stepped past Noctis to slap him on the backside like the two of them were still kids horsing around in the schoolyard. Even so, as the two friends took one another in again, Prompto shook his head with shock. 

“Man, look at you! You seriously almost look like a King now, it’s wild!”

“And you look—you look like you’ve been through the wringer.” Noctis turned on his heel a few times, taking in Gladio’s long hair, the healed scars on Ignis’ hand and face, Prompto’s fresh scars. 

“It’s been a long journey through a dark night, but we’ve made it.” Ignis put his hand across his breast, and Noctis took him by the wrist.

“I’m glad all of you made it.”

“Not like it was easy,” Gladio remarked, but Prompto hurriedly waved his hands like he was trying to smear away the bad memories. 

“We can talk about all that later, later! C’mon, dude, let’s get a hot meal in you and we can all catch up properly!” He slapped Noctis on the back and motioned towards Takka’s, hopping and skipping off, and Gladio rolled his eyes and followed him.

“Yeah, we’ve got some real stories for ya.” He waved for Noctis to follow, and though Noctis moved, Ignis caught his hand again. Noctis turned back to him, the two of them catching eyes.

“Majesty, if I may—”

“It’s still just Noctis to you.” Noctis smiled, though it didn’t disguise the bags under his eyes, the weariness that came with bearing the weight of his fate. It was a weight Ignis had always tried to lift from him. What was a King’s right hand for, anyway? “Something the matter?”

“I never had a chance to thank you.” Ignis squeezed his fingers. “For—for coming to rescue me from my own foolhardy stand against Izunia. You made a stand for me, even when you had faced such vicious hardships yourself—you truly stood tall when facing your fate.” 

“It’s nowhere near what I owe you, for all you’ve done for me.” Noctis shook his head, faintly aglow with affection. “I know I’ve asked a lot of you over the years—”

“Nothing I haven’t done willingly.” 

It was an unspoken pact, a bond as fast as concrete. Ignis would walk alongside him wherever their path led, all the way to the end of the line.

“And I’d still do more, if you’ll allow.” Ignis squared his shoulders. “I’ve learned much while you’ve been away, and I’ve much to tell you. However, first and foremost—what if I were to tell you that fate could be shifted?” He stepped in closer to Noctis, and with that, they took their first steps towards a different future.

* * *

The King’s retinue carved their way through the daemons infesting Insomnia, inexorably towards the Citadel. Ignis and Prompto fought at each other’s backs, while Gladio and Noctis pushed forth. The four of them moved as one, almost as easily as they had ten years ago. Noctis fought with more conviction, every step sure and steady, and the rest of them had become a well-oiled machine. Prompto’s dual pistols and Ignis’ dual daggers handled enemies far and near with vicious efficiency, and Gladio was utterly relentless. 

“It’s almost like you guys were grinding up to the level cap while I was away,” Noctis laughed wearily as Gladio crushed the last of a crowd of Arachnes that had blocked their path.

“The King’s Knight servers went offline a while ago without you and Prompto feeding the coffers,” Gladio laughed, all smug bravado and jest. “But we’ve been sharpening our skills, if that’s what you mean.”

“We’ve been  _ playing _ to our strengths,” Ignis joked to a groan from Noctis. “But, truthfully, we’ve known this day was coming, and we’ve prepared.”

“Armed and ready to help you out!” Prompto shot finger guns at Noctis as he pivoted past him, his Glaive coat whipping around his legs. Noctis seemed satisfied, though there was still a resigned weariness to his steps as they approached the road to the Citadel.

It had been a long road, and they’d all wound different ways there, and yet they were still coming to the same ending.

“You’re sure you’re alright with this?”

Ignis knew Noctis was addressing Prompto from the significant look Noctis had fixed on him. Noctis had barely been able to look away from him, studying his scars anew every time he glimpsed a new one. He’d been horrified at the tale of Prompto’s ordeal during the darkness, even as Ignis and Prompto had skimmed as many of the more gruesome details as they could in a vain effort to spare his conscience. Noctis tried to glean more, but Prompto had insisted that Noctis knew enough, and besides:

“It’s okay.” Prompto’s smile glanced off of Ignis, before he turned it full-force on Noctis like a sunbeam. “It can all only get better from here. If something good can come out of everything I went through, I want that. Especially if it’s for you.”

Ignis’ grand scheme involved Prompto directly, but he’d been in agreement from the moment Ignis conceived and proposed it. It would be the ultimate use of the Oracle Simulacrum, expressed through a man unwittingly sent drifting into the King’s heart by the Oracle herself.

When the four of them reached the bottom of the Citadel steps, Noctis took the first step up by himself. He halted there, steadfastly looking ahead. “You don’t have to,” he said quietly. “I’m willing to face this alone.”

“But you shouldn’t have to.” Ignis stepped up beside him. “A King may lead, and it may be his duty to push ever onwards, accepting the consequences of his actions without looking back, but nobody ever said you had to do it alone.”

“And nobody ever said how,” Prompto added, taking the next step.

“We got your back, Majesty.” Gladio stepped up behind the three of them, shield in hand. “Where we go, we go as one.”

Noctis’ grateful smile was nearly as welcome as the long-suppressed sunrise. “Thank you.”

The four of them approached the door to the Throne Room together, Ignis feeling a tremor in his hands as he faced the doors. He could feel a faint hum of power in the air, a familiar aura, and it echoed in his joints and every hollow in his bones. However, Prompto took his hand, and Ignis realized he could feel power radiating from him too, as well as a warmth that could only come with long familiarity and empathy.

“We got this,” Prompto told him. 

Noctis, too, braced himself, then, with a sweep of his arms, pushed the doors wide.

Ignis looked past the facsimiles of long-rotted away corpses hanging from the ceiling like a morbid puppet play, the ruins and blood staining the council chairs and the shredded tapestries, to the smirking figure waiting on King Regis’— _ no, _ King Noctis’ throne. Noctis stopped, his retinue at his back, and faced Ardyn with conviction. 

Ardyn greeted Noctis’ rebellious stance with a smirk and a drum of his fingers on the arm of the chair. “I’m afraid you’re out of luck. The throne brings you here? It seats only one.

Noctis scoffed. “Off my chair, jester. The King sits there.”

Ardyn rose on the dais, sweeping his fluttering cloak back and away and forming a fist. “Tonight, the dreams of the blood royal come to an end.”

Noctis, hands balled at his sides, shook his head. “No. Not tonight.” He clenched his fists, then seized the hand that gripped the Ring. “Tonight, I reclaim my Kingdom.” 

And unwittingly, it would be thanks to the machinations of the Empire itself and the fate of one of its long-lost soldiers. 

Prompto split his coat open to reveal the Magitek core still implanted in his chest, surrounded by the extraction tech Ignis had adapted from Besithia’s machines, and Noctis drew on the power imbued in him by the Gods. It was just as Ignis had theorized to Noctis at Hammerhead.

_ “My Oracle Simulacrum can absorb the Scourge, and I have reason to believe that the only thing keeping Ardyn Izunia alive is that selfsame curse. He’s composed of it, powered by it, fueled by it. By using the strongest core we have, I believe it’ll be possible to seal him away once more.” _

Ardyn roared and tried to summon up energy to his hands, but as Ignis’ machinery came to life and Prompto’s core glowed blue with Noctis’ magic, his magic was nullified, the purple flames in his hands blinking out. Then, like dust in the wind, his fingertips began to vanish, crumbling into black particulate that swirled towards Prompto. Prompto grunted as the dust was absorbed into the light in his chest, but Ignis gripped his other shoulder to hold him in place.

“You can do this,” he told him and Noctis both, and Prompto dug his heels in. 

Ardyn snarled, his power whipping around him like a whirlwind as Noctis focused on channeling his power through Prompto’s core. The tapestries flew loose, and debris from around the room was launched into the air. Gladio hurried forwards to shield Noctis from the storm, as his eyes glowed with the same magic that flowed through the Crystal and in the blood of all Lucian Kings, and his body was paralyzed. 

“Hold steady! We got this!” Gladio blocked a chunk of window frame from hitting his companions as Ignis covered Prompto. 

Ardyn roared, but he was transfixed by the magic, unable to move as he was caught between the rush of the Simulacrum’s magic and the rebellion of his own curse. “No! This is not the will of the gods!”

“The gods are not here,” Ignis declared, and looked Ardyn in the eye as he once had ten years ago. “But here we stand, nonetheless!”

Prompto cried out and staggered as Ardyn’s hands vanished, as he crumbled around the edges, his coat dissolving to tatters and his hair vanishing. His skin was torn, revealing the blackened Scourge beneath the surface, corrupting him down to muscle and bone. Ignis winced as Prompto shuddered, as the black mass that was Ardyn Izunia was absorbed into Prompto’s core. Noctis gritted his teeth, but pressed on without regret.

Prompto held fast, shivering as the core turned black. Ignis and Gladio continued to block the debris from interrupting, unsure of what would happen if the magic was halted, not even sure of what would happen if they succeeded. 

Ignis only had theory.

_ “It won’t end the threat he poses,” Ignis had told Noctis in the shadows of the Citadel, around the last of their final campfire. “The most we can do is seal him. Someday, you will have to sit the throne and face him, and fulfill the prophecy. However, this will give you time, time the Gods would have deprived you. If my Magitek can hold his evil at bay for a few years more, if it can belay your fate, give you a chance to rebuild your kingdom, is that not worth taking the chance?” _

_ “Believe me, I’d love the chance to rebuild Lucis.” Noctis had closed a hand over his heart. “It’s the least I can do for my Kingdom, my people. But _ — _ what about Pr _ — _ ” _

_ “Iggy and I talked about it.” Prompto had emerged from the tent without either of them noticing. “And I’m okay with it, like I said before.” His gaze cast down to the embers at their feet. “We’re not exactly sure how long I’ll live, considering… everything. But if I can do something to help you _ — _ then...” He broke off. “It’s all I ever wanted.” He looked up at them, determination in eyes like still waters. “I came back from hell to you guys. If I have to go back there for you, then it’s okay with me.” He patted his chest, the thump echoing hollow against the core hidden under his shirt. “I’ll come back to you guys again and again, like a stray cat.”  _

Ardyn’s husk collapsed to a heap before the throne, the shell of his withered body cloaked by his threadbare cloak and clothing. Noctis kept pouring his power into Prompto until the last fragments of dust vanished into Prompto’s core, until the illusions around them dissolved, until the magic faded, and until the world around them had settled. 

When Noctis released Prompto, both of them fell, Prompto slumping, limp, into a heap like a dropped jacket, and Noctis’ eyes rolled back in his head as he collapsed into Gladio. Ignis and Gladio went down after each of them. 

Gladio checked Noctis first, putting his hand under his nose, then his fingers to the pulse point on his neck. “Long live the King,” he said, somewhere between rueful and satisfied.

Ignis, too, turned Prompto onto his back. The core in his chest was glowing with red light, swirling with black dust like a galaxy in a jar, but more importantly, Ignis could see the rise and fall of his breathing, shallow but slow.

“He’s alive.” Ignis bowed his head reverently. “We all are.”

Too exhausted to move, the four of them remained there, bowed on the floor of the Throne Room, as beyond the broken windows, the Dawn came.


	13. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dawn has come but the shadows of the past remain...
> 
> And they will come back.

**Epilogue:**

The end of one thing meant the beginning of another, the birth pangs of a new world. Ignis had spent ten years preparing for the great labors that would be needed to recover their country when the sun rose again and life could continue. It would take years before Lucis, Tenebrae, Accordo, and Gralea were even close to what they once were. However, the beginning of a new world meant it could be a different one, something greater, better, than it had been before all had gone dark.

Two years into the recovery, Ignis was finally seeing the fruits of his work, and happy to report on them to his King.

Noctis sat on the throne as Ignis read his daily reports between phone calls and meetings, content in his place with a notepad set on one arm and his Shield standing by his side.

“... Reconstruction continues in Gralea. A significant part of the Capital destroyed when the Diamond Weapon was, one way or another, unleashed within the city, has finally successfully been demolished and cleared. I spoke with Madame Highwind, who stated that they’re planning on rebuilding it into low-cost housing, subsidized for all the workers who are helping in the reconstruction. She’s requested we see what we have to spare for building supplies.”

“Granted. Have someone talk to the lumberjacks, see what we can do.” Noctis made a quick note. “Are they going to try to recycle?”

“Aggregate for concrete can only take them so far, but of course. I know for a fact Madame Highwind is in regular contact with Sania Yeagre’s union.” He smiled wryly. “Then again, perhaps I should be specific as to which union I mean. But to my knowledge, Sania has contacts who are developing new ways to reuse broken stones by converting them into concrete that can be made into bricks.”

“Glad to hear.” Noctis flipped back a few pages in his notes. “Any updates on the appearances of Scourge?”

“Iris contacted me from the Vesperpool. There are small recurrences there at nights, but nothing not easily suppressed.” Ignis laced his fingers. “Other hunters have reported similar, and it’s been fairly consistent between reports—small, rare appearances.”

“I’ll want to send a survey team out,” Gladio rumbled, and glanced to the door. “And—”

“I can hear you!” Prompto called in from his post guarding the door. “And I’m fine!”

Ignis chuckled wryly. “No change to his condition.”

“I would say something, y’know!” Prompto added loudly.

Laughing, Noctis pinched his brow. “Thanks, Prompto. Gladio will arrange for a team of Glaives. Would you get us a list of activity spots?”

“I certainly shall.” Ignis put his hand across his breast in a brief bow. “We will protect our world.”

“Thank you, Ignis.” Noctis’ grateful smile as he sat back against the throne was as great a reward as anything Ignis could have asked for. 

And yet, he was blessed with so much more.

Insomnia was recovering, the Citadel slowly being rebuilt, and the homes and buildings around it coming together. The Wall would never rise again, Lucis a single country, and Noctis protective of everyone who lived in it. New towns were rising across the devastated landscape, homes and businesses appearing where once had been only ruins and battlefields. Everywhere, Eos was healing; Ravus watched Tenebrae rise as a nation again, Holly in Lestallum oversaw the people fanning out across the nation, and Aranea was forging a new path for the fallen Empire. The old scars were deep and would last, and some would never truly recover, but the same horrors that had reshaped their planet would be their uniting force.

Because they had all survived, every human could say, “We came through this together.”

For Ignis, however, the new world would always be marred by its true price.

As Ignis exited the throne room, Prompto fell in beside him, uniform neat and tidy, gun in its holster, a smile in place. He had actually managed to grow a little goatee to help cure his boyish face, though his cheeks were still a bit hollow. Ignis’ fingers brushed against Prompto’s, and Prompto gave his hand a quick squeeze before walking at his side.

(Ignis didn’t like public displays of affection in the workplace, but he would let Prompto get away with little things.)

“Where’re you headed now? Need an escort?” 

“I never mind a bit of company.” Ignis winked at him. “And I never mind you coming with me.” 

“Cool!” Prompto’s heels bounced on the tiles as he kept up with Ignis’ brisk pace. “But, uh, where are we going?”

Ignis hesitated, then answered, “The catacombs. My, er, afternoon ritual. Are you alright to come with me?”

“Yeah, sure.” Prompto didn’t miss a beat, though Ignis spotted a slight shift in his expression, tension winding the corners of his mouth. They reached the elevator, Ignis depressed the “down” button, and the two descended together.

The Citadel had been the first thing reconstructed—not in full, but enough to house the Crystal in its belly. The catacombs beneath were untouched, the buried queens and other royal retainers peaceful in their rest despite their kings sleeping in faraway places. As the rest of the Citadel came back together around the Crystal and the memories of the lost, one memory in particular was housed in its depths.

Waiting to wake again. 

Ardyn wasn’t gone.

Not truly.

In one of the catacombs, on an empty plinth that had been meant for Lunafreya upon her inevitable death, Ardyn’s corpse was laid at rest, his skeletal hands folded over his breast. Ignis came to visit him daily, and Noctis and Gladio once a week. He hadn’t rotted away or decomposed any more than he had, his form unchanged from day to day. Even so, Ignis wanted to lay eyes on him to make certain.

Someday, he would return. 

The core in Prompto’s chest was the only thing keeping Ardyn’s evil from seeping out, restoring him to the same walking horror he had been before. However, with part of Ardyn’s soul housed within the Crystal and the rest of him in Prompto’s core, he was contained.

“Sealed evil in a can,” Prompto had once joked. Ignis hadn’t laughed.

Sealed did not mean gone, demonstrably. One day, Prompto wouldn’t be able to contain him; Ardyn’s power could swell beyond what even Prompto’s core could contain, or something could happen to Prompto to disrupt it, or, inevitably, Prompto would die and with the end of his life, so would end the symbiotic loop between Prompto’s life and the core. When that day came, Noctis would sit the throne, call upon the power of the Lucian Kings still roaring within his breast, and faced Ardyn both on Eos and in the After. 

It was a fight Noctis would have to win, and it was a fight Noctis would not, could not survive. Such was his fate. The King would give all that all could continue to live. 

However, for now, Prompto lived, happy at Ignis’ side, happy with their friends and their lots in life. And for now, the world would continue to grow and thrive under the augurs of the Dawn. 

This was Ignis’ plan. Not divine, no, but sacred to him, dear to his heart, essential to everything he held dear.

Ignis would hold fast to it, to this contentment and the taste of this victory, even when fate delayed became fate fulfilled. 

Until then, he would reach for Prompto’s hand again and again, like he bowed to his King on every meeting and parting.

“Come,” he said softly. “Let’s go back.”

“Yeah.” Prompto took his hand, and the two of them made to return to the hallowed halls of the Citadel. 

Whatever destiny brought next, Ignis would face it with his eyes open, marching into the light. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading!
> 
> A few notes:
> 
> The title of the fic came from the Hozier song of the same name.
> 
> I had meant to create a playlist for this fic, but I only ended up with two songs: "It Will Come Back," of course, and "Bury a Friend" by Billie Eilish for the opening scene of chapter 8.
> 
> The ending scene of the fic was inspired by the ending scene from Episode Ignis Verse 2, of course, and the art from Dawn of the Future featuring the main characters surrounding a symbolic empty coffin with Ardyn's hat on it.
> 
> Have any questions? Hit me up on Twitter @ForgetTheLyrics!


End file.
